Google
This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project
to make the world's books discoverable online.
It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.
Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the
publisher to a library and finally to you.
Usage guidelines
Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:
+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.
+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.
+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.
+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.
About Google Book Search
Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web
at |http: //books .google .com/I
The
ART OF WRITING
OPERA-LIBRETTOS
Practical Suggestions
By
Edgar Istel
Translated
From the German Manuscript by
Dr. TH. BAKER
G. SCHIRMER, INC.
New York
v. /
659871
Copyright, 1922, by G. Schirmer, Inc.
30790
; : • *
• • •
V
• *
• •
k *
Printed in the U. S. A.
PREFACE
There are many composers in the* world
who think it strange that their operas have
so little success, although they are recognized
as excellent musicians. The idea may grad-
ually dawn upon these good fellows, but bad
dramatists, that the cause of their ill success
is to be sought simply in the fact that they
know nothing about the stage or the planning
of a libretto. But how shall they learn to do
better?
Hitherto there has been no book that gave
really practical directions for the planning
and analytical criticism of an opera-libretto.
Shortly before the war I published a work
which might be considered as the first attempt
at writing such a book. The abundant ex-
perience which the author has had since then
a^ a poet and composer in producing and
staging several of his own operas, has
encouraged him (on request of Mr. O. G.
Sonneck) to rewrite the aforesaid work in a
form specially adapted for American conditions.
In doing so, all theoretical discussions of a
general character have been reduced to the
narrowest limits, so that the practical part
could be proportionately enlarged. I trust
that the young American writer may learn
liiil
Preface
from the example of the best among the
vigorous European operatic works of all the
nations considered, that the principal thing
is the* action and its development, and that
everything must be avoided which is not
genuinely theatrical. Then — I do not doubt
— original modern American operas will soon
be produced and take their place in the world-
repertory beside the masterworks of a Bizet,
a Verdi, and a Wagner.
Edgar Istel.
Berun, Summer of 1920.
[iv]
CONTENTS
Page
Preface iii
Chapter I : Composer and Librettist i
Gluck's Procedure i
Mozart's Procedure 2
Lortzing's Procedure 5
Wagner's Procedure 12
The Strauss-Debussy Procedure (The
Literary Opera) 16
Chapter II : The Subject of an Opera 21
Chapter III : Laws of Construction 27
What Shall Be the Form? 28
No Superfluous Interludes 34
Wagner on Perspicuity 36
Restrict Changes of Scene 39
Choosing a Title 41
Exposition, Development, Denouement 43
What is Dramatic? 46
"Intrigue" and "Counter-Intrigue" 56
How Does One Characterize? 64
The Usual Dramatic Roles 68
Analysis of the "Scene" 74
Analysis of the "Act" 90
[v]
Comrmls
Chapter IV : A Practical KTa^^^^ie loo
Eugene Scribe's Libretto Tcciaic* R-
lustrated by the Book of the
Comedy-Opera "Le Part da Diable**
COKCLUSIOX 155
[▼il
CHAPTER I
#
Composer and Librettist
To the modern music-dramatist various
possibilities are open with regard to the atti-
tude he may assume toward the libretto
problem.
I. Gluck's Procedure
A dramatically skilled and musical poet
inspires the composer, who, as he himself
asserts, strives while composing to forget
that he is a musician. "However talented
a composer may be, he will always write only
mediocre music if the poet does not arouse in
him that enthusiasm without which the works
of all the arts are weak and flabby," wrote
the master to the editor of the "Mercure de
France.'^ Gluck's dictum applies to all com-
posers of true dramatic feeling, but musically
immature. He remarks succinctly, that one
can always write effective music to good
librettos, but only impotent music to a poor
book. Although the opera-books of Gluck,
in their original shape (Wagner, as we know,
effectively remodeled the "Iphigenia in Au-
lis"), scarcely answer the demands of modern
dramatic technics in their construction and
characterization, his adherence to the above
[1]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
principle, taking into account his peculiar
individuality, nevertheless raided Gluck to a
commanding position in the history of opera.
And even to-day a composer of dramatic
emotionality, though less gifted musically,
might have the better chance to win operatic
success with a libretto based on an intimate
knowledge of stage-effect — always providing
that the 'poet has given due heed to the
specifically musical requirements. To be sure,
as really good librettos are remarkably scarce,
this case will not occur with alarming fre-
quency. As a modern instance we might
mention the book, very skillfully adapted by
R. Lothar from a Spanish (Catalonian) drama
by Guimera, of d'Albert's "Tiefland." How-
ever, the composers of such books stand or
fall according to the effectiveness of their
librettos — a fact vividly illustrated by the
changeful stage-fortunes of d'Albert.
2. Mozart's Procedure
In contrast to Gluck, who waits upon the
Word, the master of "Figaro" and "Don
Giovanni" takes his departure from Music.
"In an opera the poem must unquestionably
be the obedient daughter of the music," he
writes in a letter of Oct. 13, 1781, to his
father. This phrase characterizes the Italian
conception as opposed to the more French
[2]
Composer and Librettist
view of Gluck. Such an exuberant musical
invention of so inexhaustible power, as only-
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart possessed, might
in its full consciousness of genius feel assured,
even when subjecting the poet to its will, that
it would hit the true mean of musical expres-
sion and, however luxuriant the musical
investiture, never lose sight of the close-knit
dramatic construction. True, it was only in
Da Ponte that Mozart found a congenial li-
brettist, who understood how to adapt him-
self to the master while providing him with-
books nicely calculated for stage-effect. It
makes little difference that Da Ponte was no
original genius; he was a skillful adapter, who
furnished precisely what Mozart needed, and
without him we should have been the poorer
by two immortal masterworks. So it came,
that Mozart could confidently assert: "The
best plan, then, is for a good composer, who
understands the stage and can himself take
a certain initiative, to combine with a clever
poet as a veritable phoenix." — Note these
words, "as a veritable phoenix"! There can
be no doubt concerning the rarity of this
happy combination. Rossini's books for the
"Barber of Seville" (by E. Sterbini) and "Tell"
(by Etienne and Bis), Verdi's best librettos
("Rigoletto," "La Traviata" and "Amelia,"
by Piave, "Aida" by Ghislanzoni, "Otello"
[3 J
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
and "Falstaff" by Boito), Bizet's "Carmen,"
by Meilhac and Halevy, show such favorable
coincidences. Verdi had, besides, the peculiar
good fortune, in the case of his last two master-
works, "Otello" and "Falstaif," to find in
Boito a librettist who was himself an opera
composer and therefore well aware of what
had to be done. More recently Puccini
has taken the lead in securing the effective,
albeit very gross, librettos to "Tosca" and
"Butterfly" from Illica and Giacosa. Among
.French librettists must be mentioned Carre
and Barbier, who cleverly adapted "Mar-
guerite" (Faust) for Gounod, "Mignon" for
Thomas, and "The Tales of HoiFmann" for
Offenbach. In Germany, the country poorest
in theatrical talent, we may name W. Friedrich
{rede Riese), a theatre poet well instructed
in French methods,- who helped Flotow to
win his only permanent successes ("Martha,"
"Stradella"); also Mosenthal, librettist of
\ Nicolai's "Merry Wives of Windsor." Above
all, however, it is the much-abused Scribe,
one of the most admirable librettists of all
times and peoples, who stands well-nigh un-
rivalled in his knowledge of stagecraft and
of the requirements of music. This is proved
by numerous opera-books of his that are still
in vogue, and are constructed with a truly
genial discernment for stage-effect. Among
[4J
Composer and Librettist
the most striking examples are four books
written for Auber: "Le Part du Diable,"
"Le Domino noir," "Fra Diavolo," and "La
Muette de Portici." Another masterpiece is
the text to "La Juive," for Halevy. In between,
Scribe admittedly wrote inferior librettos
as well, which is not a matter for surprise,
considering his wholesale production. He
came into ill repute chiefly through his li-
brettos for Meyerbeer: "Robert le Diable,"
"Les Huguenots," "Le Prophete," "L'Afri-
caine," but this was only because he some-
times allowed himself to be bullied by the
composer, who was always aiming at writing
eiFective musical numbers, into departing from
his well-established dramatic principles. After
all, for Meyerbeer these were the best opera-
books imaginable, and no small measure of
credit is due to Scribe that the above works
obtained worldwide success. And in fine,
whatever one may please to think about the
partnership of Meyerbeer and Scribe, the
best work of the twain, "Les Huguenots," will
still live on the stage when a thousand operatic
weaklings of a later date have long been con-
signed to oblivion.
3* Lortzing's Procedure
This is a purely empirico-practical fabri-
cation of opera-texts for one's own use,
[5]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
emanating in toto from the requirement for
animated theatrical effect. How Lortzing
tackled this problem is very clearly described
by himself in a conversation published by J.
C. Lobe in "Konsonanzen und Dissonanzen"
(Leipzig, 1869), a work now almost forgotten.
Below I quote the most important points:
Lobe: — Our conversation turned to opera-
texts, and I asked him why he adapted existing
pieces for his operas, instead of inventing
something of his own.
Lortzing: — I tried that at first with a few
short pieces, but it requires more talent than
I possess, and longer study and practice than
were at my disposal! I soon came to the
conclusion that many more. enjoyable things
would be proffered us in the world of art if
every talent sought to perfect itself within
the bounds set for it by nature, without reach-
ing out after fruits which are beyond its
grasp. So I was glad to turn my attention
to unremembered plays and adapt them for
my use as operas. The actor has one advan-
tage which most dramatic poets lack —
familiarity with the stage. After one has
been playing his tricks before the public
almost daily for some twenty years, he grad-
ually learns from his audiences what makes a
hit and what does not. How delightfully
many a tirade, many a jest, reads in a book,
[6]
Composer and Librettist
and how perfectly flat it falls on the stage.
Contrariwise, much that looks like nothing
at all in print strikes fire from the soul when
acted to the life. And so one finally comes
to realize the significance of the placing of
dialogues and scenes. Therefore, every dra-
matic poet ought really to be an actor for a
time.
Having my knowledge of the stage, I
might well venture on the adaptation of good
plays. And yet — how long did I have to seek
for a suitable subject! When I thought I had
at last found such an one, I first of all asked
myself whether it contained musical situations,
scenes capable of stirring the emotions. These
scenes I marked, to begin with. Here was
an opportunity for a song, there for an aria,
elsewhere for a duet, an ensemble, a chorus,
etc. When I found these in a piece, a weight
was lifted from my heart. Next began another
task — that of a critic, so to speak. I asked,
What are the most effective scenes in it.^*
which are weaker ones, or quite unfit. ^ Then
the weak scenes had to be improved; the unfit
ones were discarded. Little by little my plan
took on the form that I needed for an opera,
and with that the most formidable difficulties
were vanquished. The dialogue was easily
altered, and the verse — well, my goodness,
who is there nowadays that can't patch to-
[7]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
gather some sort of verses, let alone opera-
verses! Why overexert oneself? For every-
thing that goes to make up poetry — pro-
found, majestic' thoughts, rosy imagery, purity
of rime, smoothness and flow of language, and
all the rest, must be burned to ashes by the
composer in order that the phoenix of music
may arise therefrom. Roles! — that is the
"open sesame" to the doors of the stage alike
for the dramatic poet and the composer.
There are singers with little voice, who still
are pretty good actors, and other singers who
sing well but act poorly. Now, if one has
found a piece which provides the former with
good acting parts, and the latter with nice
singing parts, a favorable reception is assured.
Most success is had with such roles as cannot
be "knocked out" even by the small fry
among the histrionic tribe — roles that play
themselves, like those of the Burghermaster
and Peter the Great in "Tsar and Carpenter."
Mind you, those are what I call roles, and the
Italians understand that kind best of all, which
accounts for their success. The singers are
always attracted by pieces that contain roles
— star roles. Composers pay scant attention
to the fact that in opera it is the singers, or,
in a word, in stage-plays it is the players, who
are to be considered as the authors' chief aids
to fame and fortune.
[8]
Composer and Librettist
Lobe: — But, with all this working over,
is not the loftier artistic spirit of dramatic
works often lost? We have many plays with
roles such as you prefer, to which we can
hardly ascribe a high artistic value.
Lortzing: — ^True enough! On the other
hand, we also have plays whose high dramatic
value we must recognize, and which neverthe-
less cannot maintain themselves on the stage
just because they contain no roles. When
both requirements are combined — then, in-
deed, the poet has attained the loftiest goal,
as the plays of our dramatists, Shakespeare,
Goethe and Schiller, prove, both requirements
being fulfilled in them. Such men, however,
are of the rarest, and if the managements
were permitted to give no plays but such as
theirs —
Lobe {interrupting him): — So, in your
opinion, anyone to whom the genius of a
Shakespeare, Goethe, Schiller, Mozart, Beet-
hoven, etc., is denied, should content himself
with lesser undertakings.^ Might we not bet-
ter say, in the interest of art. Rather let him
who does not feel equal to the highest tasks,
abstain altogether.^ What does a connoisseur
care for mediocrity? (And as Lortzing greeted
this question with a somewhat peculiar smile.
Lobe suddenly realized what a snare he had
set for himself, and hastily continued): It is
[9]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
hardly necessary to assure you that your own
operas —
LoRTZiNG {interrupting him) : — Oh, old
friend, no diplomatic finesse between you and
me! The remark that my things are beneath
mediocrity, cannot insult me, because it is
true. But that such as I should refrain from
production on that account, I cannot admit.
Connoisseur.^ Oh yes, a fine title. How many
of them do you think you could get together
in Leipzig, or any other city? How many
could you turn into regular theatregoers.^
And how many would agree in their opinions
concerning the works of art.^ Is not Robert
Schumann a musician of the highest capacity.^
Well, let him write an opera only for Mendels-
sohn and other similar connoisseurs. Would
his music thoroughly satisfy these men.^
Would they agree in praise or blame for all
the numbers 'i And besides — how long do you
suppose a theatre would exist, in which only
creations of the highest genius could be pro-
duced, and where the audiences should be
composed of connoisseurs alone? You could
not scrape together enough perfect works to
fill a half-year's repertory, and the receipts
from select audiences of connoisseurs would
not pay the theatre manager for the oil in his
lamps! It would be delightful if all art-works
were perfect and all men were connoisseurs.
[10]
Composer and Librettist
But the Lord has willed it otherwise. Human
beings on this planet must have different
capacities, different tastes, different education
— but all should enjoy art so far as may be.
Some of my operas give many honest souls
pleasure for hours; with that I am satisfied.
Here, so far as Lobe ^ives it, the con-
versation between the two men breaks off. I
have reproduced this portion of the important
dialogue in extenso because the plain talk of
the unassuming master seems, in my opinion,
to outweigh a bulky compendium of theoretical
reasoning. Only after one has carefully ex-
amined his texts and compared them with the
originals, does one realize how much of his own
personality Lortzing imparted to the revamped
old comedies, and how he often so greatly varied
their structure and casts that, in spite of a
literal taking-over of some parts of the
dialogue, the works in their present shape
may be considered as his personal property.
For nearly all the great dramatic poets — the
Spaniards, Moliere and Shakespeare beyond
the rest — employed no other procedure in
many of their pieces; as practical stage-folk
they laid hold of good material left by their
predecessors, retained the successful scenes,
and completely rewrote the ineffective ones.
Hence, numerous subjects, more especially
those of a sprightly character, took on their
[11]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
definitive form only after the lapse of gener-
ations. That, of course, runs counter to
the present craze for originality, when every
individual would fain be an original genius
of a wholly new type. One should consider,
however, that it is not a wholly despicable
feat when, without poetical pretensions, one
can write an opera-book for oneself in good
workmanlike style, as has been done in Ger-
many, for example, by Kienzl ("Der Evangeli-
mann'*), in Italy by Leoncavallo ("Pagliacci"),
and in France by Charpentier ("Louise").
4- Wagner's Procedure
This is most clearly explained in a letter
written by the master to Carl Gaillard on
Jan. 30th, 1844, in which he says: "I am
really under no illusions concerning my avoca-
tion as a poet, and confess that it was only from
necessity, because no good librettos were
offered me, that I tried my hand at writing
them. But now I should find it quite im-
possible to do so, for the following reason: —
It is not my way of working to choose any
subject, no matter what, turn it into verse,
and then reflect how I shall write a suitable
music for it. By adopting this method I
should certainly be exposed to the disadvan-
tage of having to warm over my first inspira-
tion, something I could not do. But my mode
[12]
Composer and Librettist
of production is different. First of all, no sub-
ject has attraction for me except one that
presents itself to me not only in its poetical,
but also at the same time in its musical, signifi-
cance. Before I begin to write a verse, or
even to plan a scene, I am already intoxicated
by the musical redolence of my creation; I
have all the tones, all the characteristic mo-
tives, in my head, so that, when the verses
are finished and the scenes arranged, for me
the opera itself is completed, and the musical
treatment in detail is more like a quiet, deliber-
ate finishing job, the moment of creation
proper having already preceded it. And for
this purpose, besides, only such subjects can
be selected as are suitable solely for musical
treatment. I would never choose a subject
that could be just as readily wrought into a
spoken drama by some clever theatre poet.
But I, as a musician, can select subjects
and invent situations and contrasts which
must ever remain foreign to the poet of the
spoken drama. And just here, it would seem,
is the parting of the ways between opera and
drama, each thereafter tranquilly ifollowing
its own path. If it is the task of the dramatic
poet at the present time to cleanse and spirit-
ualize the material interests of our epoch
from a moral point of view, it is left to the
opera-poet and composer to set free, as with
[13]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
a magic wand, that sacred soul of poetry
that calls to us out of the sagas and stories of
old, in all its rightful charm; for music offers
us to this end a vehicle for combinations which
are not at the command of the poet alone,
particularly when our actors are taken into
account."
In addition to the above he writes, in the
"Mittheilung an meine Freunde": "In the
case of 'Rienzi' it was still my idea only to
write an *opera'; to this end I sought after
materials and, taking thought only for the
opera, I borrowed them from finished poems
which, as to form, were already constructed
with artistic discrimination — a dramatic fairy
tale by Gozzi, a drama by Shakespeare, and
finally a novel by Bulwer-Lytton; these I
adapted to the peculiar requirements of the
opera. For *Rienzi' ... I elaborated . . . the
material (as, considering the nature of an
historical novel, was not practicable other-
wise) with greater freedom, following the im-
pressions it had made on me, and this in the
guise in which I had seen it through the 'opera-
glass.' With *The Flying Dutchman' I entered
upon a new path, myself becoming the artis-
tico-poetic upbuilder of this plot, given me
only in a simple, rough sketch as a folk-legend.
From that time, with regard to all my dramatic
works, I was first of all a poet, and not until
[14]
Composer and Librettist
after the complete construction of the poem
did I again become a musician. But I was a
poet conscious, from the outset, of what music
is capable of expressing. ..."
So we see that Wagner, too, originally went
to work like any good handicraftsman. It
was only when he had acquired a sound
theatrical technic and attained to the requi-
site mastery of both poetical and musical
expression, that he could allow himself full
liberty in the shaping of his poetico-musical
conceptions. But there is one thing that we
of to-day should clearly understand : Wagner's
technic is purely individualistic — a technic
that permits of renewed application only in
case it again happens that dramatist and musi-
cian are united in one person of equally
powerful endowment. Centuries of historical
evolution were required before such a man
could come forth, and it seems probable that
an artist of like calibre will not again appear
all too soon. This cannot prevent our learning
from Wagner in the matter of technics what-
ever may be learned from him. But no one
should attempt to imitate him. If all signs
of the times are not deceptive, we are headed
for an epoch in which, with strong emphasis
on the element of melody, we shall draw
nearer to the old opera-form, without renoun-
cing the imperishable dramatic heritage won
[15]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
through Wagner. His attitude to the libretto-
question with reference to young composers
he once stated in conversation with Hans von
Wolzogen: "When anyone lays before me the
score of a newly composed opera, it means
nothing at all to me; such progress has been
made in the devices of harmonization, of the
augmented triads, of instrumentation, and the
general routine of modern composition, that
one can feel sure beforehand not to find any
special crudities or stupidities. But I ask to
see the book of the opera; that shows me
whether the man has a sense for dramatic
poetry, and from it I can judge whether he has
a gift for dramatic music, in case he succeeded
in finding the right musical expression for
his text — which, indeed, very rarely happens."
THE LITERARY OPERA
The Strauss-Debussy Procedure
Concerning the disadvantageousness of this
procedure, discarded in the end by its two
chief representatives, no doubt prevails among
competent judges, despite the sensational
success of "Pelleas" and "Salome." It is
certain that no literary drama, however
abridged in form, can provide a suitable
foundation for an opera; in every situation
where the miisic, in its essential nature,
116]
Composer and Librettist
demands wider expansion, the poem is found
wanting, and the musician is forced to set a
quantity of unmusical detail to music simply
because the literary plan of the action renders
it imperative. Nowadays, as we all know, one
can compose (as some term it) anything what-
ever, even playbills, as the jovial Udel Quartet
once proved by their delicious setting of a
"Freischiitz" playbill to themes from Weber.
Unhappily, the spiritual bond is usually missing
in a poem so harmonized (as it were) with
hide and hair. Such a poem is available, in
a higher sense, only when written (or at least
adapted) with a special view to composition.
The Strauss-Debussy procedure is, to be sure,
comprehensible in view of the dearth of really
good librettists, and for the reason that hardly
a noteworthy poet of our day would be willing
to undertake the thankless task of construct-
ing an opera-book. The good old times when
a Beaumarchais could sneer: "Aujourd'hui ce
qui ne vaut pas la peine d'etre dit, on le
chante," are gone forever, and therefore it is
high time that composers should acquire that
minimum of dramatic insight without which
they court dire disaster on the stage.
Now arises the important question:
Must the opera-composer he his own librettist?
[17]
The Art of fVriting Opera-Librettos
To this we may reply, even to Wagnerians
of the strictest school, with the tranquillizing
assurance that, in the opinion of Wagner him-
self, he does not need to be. Wagner did,
indeed, constantly extol the union of poet
and musician in one person as the ideal case;
yet the history of opera shows, more especially
with Mozart and Verdi, that ideally perfect art-
works may also issue from the union of two
persons. Ask yourself candidly: Do you
find any point of perfection wanting in "The
Marriage of Figaro," taken as a whole, such
as signalizes (say) "Die Meistersinger von
Niirnberg"? To my mind, you will not,
provided that "Figaro" be performed accord-
ing to the original Italian version, not content-
ing oneself with some translation which, at
best, must subvert the marvelous unity be-
tween language and music. Wagner himself,
in his discussion with Rossini, plainly stated
what course composers ought to pursue.
Rossini held the requirement, that the com-
poser should be his own librettist, for "well-
nigh unrealizable," whereupon Wagner replied
that composers could just as well take up the
study of legend and history as that of counter-
point, and in so doing would surely find a
subject suited to their individuality. "And
if they lack skill or experience for planning
the dramatic action, would it not be possi-
[18]
Composer and Librettist
ble for them to call upon some competent
dramaturgist, together with whom they could
work? Besides, there have been but few dra-
matic composers who have not instinctively
shown remarkable literary and poetical talent
on occasion, by altering the position of the
text or the planning of a scene at their pleasure,
grasping its feeling and significance better
than the librettist."
Thus Wagner recommends to all those who
cannot be their own librettists that they should
work together with a playwright — nota hene^
not with any given so-called "poet." While
recommending the method adopted by Gluck
and Mozart, he lays chief emphasis on the
stage-craft of the coadjutor, who must be
thoroughly familiar with dramatic construc-
tion. Accordingly, there remain for the
present-day dramatic composer only three
possible procedures, namely:
1. If you are a universal genius like
Wagner, you will know of your own accord
precisely what to do.
2. If you possess a stage-routine like
Lortzing's, you too will need no dramaturgic
instruction, but you must have a certain
command of language. And, having this,
which enables you to write an opera-book for
yourself, you still may find the following
suggestions quite useful.
[19]
The Art of Writing Opera-^Lihrettos
3. If you are a musician pure and simple,
and still feel an unconquerable urge toward
dramatic activity {nota bene, a hankering
after fat royalties will not, in itself, suffice),
it is necessary for you to gain familiarity with
the elements of dramaturgy, so that you may
find the right man for the elaboration of your
books and, when you have found him, that
you may put your finger on the weak spots in
the construction. It is — I am going to betray
this secret of the handicraft — much wiser to
have your whole book in correct shape before
you begin setting it to music, than to be
forced later by stage-managers and conductors
to make dozens of cuts and to waste time in
rewriting. For purely musical imperfections
are more easily corrected than dramatic faults
which vitiate the entire structure of the score.
120]
CHAPTER II
The Subject of an Opera
The lore of the divining-rod, which dis-
covers to the initiated, by its magnetic pull,
here the living waters and there the hidden
gold, is no mere illusion of sense. There are
persons so sensitively endowed that they can
find hidden treasure. In view of recent in-
vestigations science itself has had to renounce
its prejudice against the water-finding rod,
and that there are men who can trace the
buried gold of times long past, and remould it
into new forms, is something that we see
repeated again and again in the poetry of all^
times and peoples. The last great example
in the realm of the musical drama was Richard
Wagner, who exhumed the wondrous legends
of prehistoric times from their epic dust, and
gave them back to the world in the purely
human guise of a refined dramatic form.
But (I hear someone object) we arc no
geniuses in the class of a Wagner. He has
preempted the finest of the ancient legends,
and anyhow, the interest in legends is ex-
hausted.
Therefore, how am I to find a good theme
for an opera.?
[21]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
Answer: — ^Just as one finds the right kind
of wife !
Yes, but one must know how to do that,
too!
Verily, one must indeed know how to do
that; it is even more difficult than finding a
theme for an opera. For either, one must
possess some amor fatu The true dramatist
finds his best subjects without premeditation,
and he will never suffer for want of them —
rather from an overabundance. Any old or
new book that happens to fall into our hands,
makes our heart beat higher; some unostenta-
tious incident of the daily news, unnoticed
by millions of readers, is the cosmic cell of a
wondrous creation; or some personal experience
strikes a creative root into our being.
Once your theme is chosen, O young mu-
sician! rest assured that it will inspire you to
the best that your Muse has to give you. But,
ere you give bonds to eternity, take heedful
counsel with yourself whether in your theme
you find not only your own inspiration but
a means for enravishing others, as well.
Consider, that a drama, unlike a lyric or an
epic, may not slumber long in script until at
last, glorious as on the first day, it shall slowly
and gradually come into its own. Consider,
that it is your task to affect at one moment
many dissimilar souls.
[22 1
The Subject of an Opera
The foremost condition is an action full
of variety and suspense. Failing of success
on the stage, without leaving a vivid im-
pression on any auditors of high or low degree,
a drama has missed its aim, even though it
contain in detail the loftiest dramatic and
musical beauties. The greatest dramatist of
all ages and nations did not think it beneath
his dignity to write such pieces as "As You
Like It" and "Twelfth Night." And Wag-
ner's worldly-wise Hans Sachs likewise opines:
You strive to please the people:
Well then, if I were you,
I think I*d let them tell me
How they like what you do!
This is loftier wisdom than ponderous tomes
can supply, and an appeal to the plain com-
monsense of the public has never, in the long
run, yet failed of effect. Therefore, O young
musician, my advice is this: When your first
poetical transports have run their course, and
you are quite clear as to the choice of your
subject and the practicability of its dramatic
exploitation, write out a short sketch of the
action, a concise relation of the several acts,
and lay it before some theatrical expert —
either a competent dramatic poet on whose
discretion you can rely, or rather some director
or stage-manager {nota hene^ a theatre con-
ductor is seldom a dependable judge). This
[23]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
theatrical expert will then either cool off your
enthusiasm for your theme considerably, and
possibly convince you of its unsuitableness by
practical objections, or he will — and then you
may think yourself very fortunate — declare the
plot effective as a whole, but advise you to
alter certain details of the plan (most likely
the act-closes). Do not be obstinate when
confronted by a trusted and friendly adviser;
give his suggestions earnest consideration even
in case, at first blush, they seem to stand
your well-devised plot on its head. After-
wards you will generally discover that the
man was not so entirely wrong, even where
you do not follow his suggestions literally and
feel moved to make certain changes only.
You need not regard an expert as infallible.
Even directors and stage-managers can make
mistakes, and many an old hand has dreaded
failure in the case of pieces that won success,
and vice versa. So listen to several men;
should they, independently of one another,
tell you the same thing, be convinced that
you are in the wrong. Should they disagree,
ponder which opinion you prefer to follow.
But lay aside all conceit and self-complacency
until your dramatic qualifications have been
approved by the public. Reflect, that the
public is the sole court of last resort which is
to decide the fate of your work; no directorial
[241
The Subject of an Opera
favor, no brilliant reviews, can avert your
dismissal from the stage after a few perform-
ances, if the piece does not "draw," that is,
does not attract paying audiences. True
enough, eminent masterworks have before this
fallen flat because at first they were not under-
stood by the public, or — as really happens
quite often — because of imperfect presenta-
tion; but, in the end, every truly genuine
dramatic talent has won public favor. Nothing
is truer than the old stage-saying: "The
individual is an ass, the crowd is the voice of
God." And as someone rightly complimented
Voltaire on being the wittiest man of his time,
he observed: "There is somebody who is wit-
tier than Voltaire — everybody." My word
for it — every piece that is a real success on
the stage possesses some peculiar theatrical
quality by reason of which it gained success.
Do not be arrogant and say: "I can't see why
this hotchpotch succeeded and my masterwork
failed." Rather, examine studiously the good
points of this "hotchpotch," and ask yourself
whether your work, after all, may possibly
not possess these qualities. Musicians and
conductors are apt to judge one-sidedly from
the orchestra score (many critics do the same,
sad to say!); the audience and stagefolk, how-
ever, care only for the stage-effect; no matter
how superficial it is, the success of the piece
[25]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
is assured. The fine distinction between the-
atrical (i.e., sensational) and dramatic (i.e.,
effective on the stage in the higher sense) is
recognized by none among the stagefolk. As
the architecture of a building is based on
established constructive considerations, in dis-
regard whereof the structure would crash in
upon itself, the drama, too, has its established
technic, which is not a demonstration of any
abstract theory, but a living branch of artistry
continually enriched by new inventions.
An opera-book rests, for the most part,
upon the same constructive foundations as the
spoken drama, and still there may be found
many a deviation necessitated by the alliance
with music, so that it is not altogether easy
and simple to apply the general rules of
dramaturgy unconditionally in this peculiar
sphere.
126J
CHAPTER III
Laws of Construction
Between the joyful discovery of an operatic
subject and its definitive adaptation for com-
position there is a long road to travel, and this
road leads, first of all, through the territory of
substantial, workmanlike technic, such as all
great dramatists from Shakespeare to Richard
Wagner have possessed. What we call tech-
nic is, in the last analysis, merely the systematic
application of those rules which guarantee a
certain stage-effect on the audience. Technic
therefore can never be gray theory; it is ever
the golden fruit of the tree of life. Although
it is thus, as to its better part, mostly gained
by experience, it must be systematically
practised in the outset in certain elementary
concepts; otherwise the beginner would em-
ploy too much valuable time in learning ex-
perimentally from individual cases over which,
viewed as members of a system, he would
gain the mastery in brief space. BufFon re-
marked: "Art is mathematics; great effects
are produced by simple means well combined."
And Maupassant wrote to Vauclaire: "Genius
is nothing but enduring patience." Certainly,
one cannot get along with technic alone, but
[27]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
9
without it one will never be anything but a
bungler, even when one has a superfluity of
"splendid ideas." "Craftsmanship acquired
within limitations must always precede all
life, all action, all art. To know and practise
one thing well is a higher education than
half-knowledge of many things," declares
Goethe. Great art-works can be created only
by the reciprocal action. of knowledge and
imagination, never by imagination or knowl-
edge alone. And hardly any other branch
of art is so dependent on this reciprocal action,
as the musical drama. This is the ultimate
source of Wagner's tremendous effectiveness.
The dilettante throws off his thoughts on
paper — they might have been otherwise. The
imaginative artist has positive ideas that hold
their own, yet do not carry conviction. Only
the finished master conquers his audience; he
leaves is no way of escape — the art-work casts
its spell over even recalcitrant spirits. But
victory can be won only by a work whose
raw material has been shaped by the hand
of a master who has all technical devices at
command.
Suppose your subject luckily found; now
prises the question, What shall be the form.^ —
for a subject is never available in the same
[28]
Laws of Construction
form that it bore when discovered. So it
makes an essential difference, whether you
found your subject already dramatized, or in
an amplified epic form, or merely in the shape
of an anecdote to be elaborated. Three
examples follow:
1. For "The Marriage of Figaro" Da Ponte
utilized the finished comedy by Beaumarchais
in such a way that his libretto follows the
drama almost scene by scene, so that con-
siderable changes, cuts, and additions to the
structure, were made only in certain passages
whose recasting was imperatively demanded.
2. For "Carmen" the librettists, Meilhac
and Halevy, utilized the full-fledged novel by
Merimee, which furnished them with a wealth
of detail; although drama and story, each
after its own kind, occasionally show wide
divergences.
3. The book of "Aida" was derived from a
short anecdote communicated by the famous
Egyptologist Mariette-Bey. Camille du Locle
wrote a dramatic sketch based on this inci-
dent, and Ghislanzoni versified this sketch
for Verdi.^
* Compare "A Genetic Study of the Aida Libretto" by-
Edgar Istel {Musical Quarterly, Jan., 1917— III, 1), and "The
Othello of Verdi and Shakespeare" {ibid., July, 1916—11, 3).
The same author will publish later an essay on "Carmen"
(novel and opera) in the same periodical.
[29]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
•
It is clear that, from a purely dramatico
technical standpoint, the framing of the "Aida"
libretto was decidedly more difficult than
that of the "Carmen" book, and that the
latter, in turn, necessarily gave more trouble
than the "Figaro" text. But even the diffi-
culties that Da Ponte met with should by
no means be underrated. The "Figaro" book
operates nowadays like the egg of Columbus —
every wretched scribbler thinks he can create
its like out of some one among the many
French comedies, which assuredly offer an
excellent working basis.
There is no masterpiect of world-literature
that has not already been "worked over" into
an opera-book. The really good operatic
themes (Shakespeare's, in particular) have
long since found their definitive musical setting,
and it is time now that masterworks should
cease to be made the happy hunting ground
of the librettists' art. Lortzing recommended
"unremembered middle-class" plays for adap-
tation. It is true that really well-constructed
stage-pieces — unless they are mere fads of a
period — do not generally disappear so trace-
lessly from the scene, excepting when some
ill fortune attended their first performance.
The opera-composer who has been so fortunate
as to unearth such a drama, must fix his atten-
tion on certain points to be noted directly. In
[30]
Laws of Construction
any event, he has before him a real stage-play,
wrought out and subdivided, and in this
respect has the advantage over any rivals who
are obliged to work up into dramatic form
some narrative or mere anecdote. An ad-
vantage, to be sure, of somewhat superficial
sort, with less of difficulty and brainwork.
Intrinsically, the finding of a finished drama
may work to his disadvantage, when his
imagination is too strongly attracted by the
ready-made scenario and may refuse here and
there to act independently. To me, at least,
it has often seemed as if the eggshells (if I may
so express it) of the original form had a tend-
ency to bob up f ragmentarily even in the well-
prepared dish. However, such fragments of
a former dramatic dishing-up are as nothing
in comparison with those remnants of an epic
style that so often cling to dramas whose
authors were not skillful enough to transform
the borrowed narrative into a genuine drama.
The "Carmen" book is noteworthy as a
felicitous example of cleverest adaptation more
especially because it is not only finely calcu-
lated for stage-effect, but also offers the
composer inexhaustible opportunities for mu-
sical development. For practical use by the
majority of our composers we can assume,
in a general way, that they will base the con-
struction of their books either on stage-plays
[31]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
or on well-rounded narratives; the third
method, namely, free invention based on
meagre material (to which, to a certain extent,
all of Wagner's works from "The Flying Dutch-
man" onward belong), is practicable only for
genius, and therefore may as well be left out
of consideration. That shall not prevent us,
however, from examining his operas analytic-
ally, "Tannhauser," "Lohengrin" and "Die
Meistersinger" being, in particular, chefs-
(Tceuvre of dramaturgic art. In "The Flying
Dutchman" various details of construction
are not wholly successful; the "Ring," as
a work of gigantic proportions and often not
impeccable dramaturgically, occupies an ex-
ceptional position; in "Tristan," excepting the
wonderfully constructed first act, the epic
ingredients of the source are so strongly in
evidence that the dramatic structure cannot
be held up as a model. In "Parsifal" also,
taken as a whole, that mighty dramatic
energy is lacking which the master possessed
at the zenith of his creative powers.
Now, on approaching the actual technical
problem of construction, the artist must, to
begin with, keep one fundamental requirement
well in view. Let him visualize his work,
that is, let him continually bear in mind that
whatever he creates has not only to be heard^
but, above all, to be seen. In effect, the action
[32]
Laws of Construction
of a good opera must be thoroughly intelligible,
even when the greater part of the text is not
understood by the hearers. This dictum
sounds self-evident, but is by no means so in
fact, as hundreds of unsuccessful dramas and
operas have demonstrated. The dramatic
poet himself is constantly tempted to narrate,
to describe, to revel in high-sounding words,
to indulge in clever discussion and soul-an-
alysis. All this is not merely useless, but
hurtful, and, when music is superadded, posi-
tively disastrous. Do not forget, first of all,
that any prolixity, however slight, in the book
will be prolonged, musically considered, to at
least thrice its length, and that any musical
over-extension sensibly impedes the flow of the
dramatic development. The audience is bored
— the worst that can happen in the theatre.
The onlooker should follow the happenings on
the stage with eager interest, and such interest
can be sustained only by extreme conciseness,
by avoidance of all superfluous verbiage.
Withal, a libretto cannot be short enough;
only where some essential breathing-space
occurs in the action, offering a possibility for
musical expansion, may it say to the moment:
"Ah, stay a while, thou art so fair." If it
does so elsewhere, straightway the demon of
tedium has it by the neck. And, of course,
what is required of the poet is equally required
[33]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
of the composer: — no superfluous interludes,
which only clog the action and embarrass the
actors; no showing-ofF with . orchestral color-
ation and thematic combination when the
action is inexorably hastening forward. Com-
pose, not with your ears alone, but with your
eyes, too! Don't let the music run ahead of the
stageplay, as even very celebrated composers
have done, on occasion. One horrible example
— a composer whose stage-successes, thanks to
highly sensational propaganda, have been
very clamorous in recent years, but who is
more of a musician than dramatist, wrote
long orchestral interludes for his most famous
work. When the stage-manager, at the first
stage-rehearsal before the premiere, asked
him what he had had in mind while composing
them, he answered "Oh, you may do whatever
you please." It was naturally out of the
question to infuse any dramatic life into these
interludes, so they had to be "padded" with
improvised stageplay. From which it may
be seen, that the composer in question has
not yet out-Wagnered Wagner, With Wagner
and with all genuine dramatic composers,
Gluck in particular, not one superfluous epi-
sodic measure can be found. In fact, as an
experienced stage-manager assured me, one
may look upon a composer's interludes as a
touchstone of his dramatic ability. No ex-
[341
Laws of Construction
pert IS in doubt as to whether a given interlude
is seen, or simply heard.
Hence, the first and most vital requirement
for the musical drama is, that it bear the test
of sight. Almost all the other laws of dramatic
representation are to be derived from this one.
Imagine yourself seated among the audience;
bethink you, that the finest discourses and
instrumental combinations excogitated at your
writing-table are, when viewed from the audi-
torium, as nothing in comparison with the
living drama on the stage. Never fancy
yourself the conductor, but always the stage-
manager, of your opera, while writing the
poem or the music. Or, still better, imagine
yourself on the stage, and ask how you yourself
would play or sing this scene or that; then, and
only then, will your piece take on life. Re-
flect, that on the lifeless paper you can give
only in outline that which others have to
transmute into warm life — that which, in
turn, is to delight, elevate, transport, or
possibly only "amuse," still others who have
no conception of "the score." Do not turn
up your nose at the art of the dramatist who
merely "amuses." It is harder to amuse the
public uninterruptedly for an hour, than to
bore them for three hours with "lofty" art.
"Tous les genres sont bons, hors le genre en-
nuyeux," observed Voltaire in his preamble
[35]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
to a comedy. Anyone becomes tiresome who
ceases to be perspicuous. In his "Uber das
Operndichten und -Komponieren im beson-
deren" Wagner, in the closing years of his life,
let fall golden words concerning perspicuity
which, unhappily, have too seldom been taken
to heart: "I would advise any dramatic com-
poser of a tendency like mine never, above all
things, to adopt a text before he has made sure
that the action, and the characters carrying
on the action, for some reason excite in him,
as a musician, a lively interest. Then let him
take a good look at some particular character
which, for the moment, ' he finds most
attractive; if she wears a mask — off with it!
if she is clad in the garb of a costumer's figur-
ine — down with it! Now let him take his
stand in a twilight nook whence he can see
only the glance of her eye; if this speaks to
him, her form itself may now take on a move-
ment which possibly affrights him — but which
he has to view unresisting; at last her lips
quiver, she opens her mouth, and a spirit-
voice tells him something genuinely true,
wholly intelligible, and yet so unheard-of (as,
mayhap, the Stone Guest and the Page Cheru-
bin told Mozart) that — in the hearing he
awakes from his dream. All is lost to sight;
but in his mental ear the tones linger — a new
idea is born."
[36]
Laws of Construction
From the requirement of perspicuity is
necessarily derived that of limitation to the
absolutely essential. "To present essentials,
but in the guise of accidentals, that is the
whole secret of the dramatic style," observes
Hebel. And Lessing ("Hamburgische Dra-
maturgic," 82. Stiick) writes: "The simpler
a machine is, the fewer springs, wheels and
weights it has, the more perfect it is." The
plot must be reduced to the simplest possible
form. All epic redundances mu«t be un-
sparingly lopped off; every single incident
of the action must be definitely connected
with the main plot or, if it cannot be organically
combined, set aside. The very first sketch
must shojv clearly the course of the play in its
fundamental lines. This limitation applies in .
like manner to the number of characters and
also to the number of acts and changes of
scene. Chief rule: As few characters as any
way possible, and limitation of the persons
taking no active part to the lowest figure.
With regard to the framing of the libretto of
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" Nicolai wrote
in his diary: "After going over it once more,
I altered and simplified the design, eliminating
the character of Mrs. Quickly (who plays such
an important part in Shakespeare's comedy),
and doing away with several other characters
which would greatly overburden the cast of
[37]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
an opera or render it quite unmanageable,
for each additional role in the opera usually
means one more difficulty in performances."
Let each subordinate character represent a
clean-cut type. Model examples are Kur-
wenal and Brangdne in "Tristan und Isolde."
A lesser dramatist, or a poet of epic propen-
sities, would have invented a whole retinue of
serving-folk for "Tristan"; Wagner contented
himself with two types. — Further, if you can,
get along without episodical figures who vanish
without a trace after brief cooperation. Give
each of your characters a "grateful" part which
is organically intertwined with the main lines
of the action.
Moreover, compress your action. into the
. smallest number of acts. After "The Flying
Dutchman" (which, in reality, is only a one-
act . opera) Wagner contented himself with
three acts, though he made it possible in the
first act of "Gotterdammerung" and the third
act of "Die Meistersinger" only by the applica- *
tion of force. In general, however, it may be
said that good opera-subjects can always be
brought within the compass of three or, at the
outside, four acts ("Carmen," and most of
Verdi's operas, have four). It depends, of
course, entirely upon the length of the acts.
If you would keep your audience "fresh" (in
this point Wagner sinned greatly) an act
[38]
Laws of Construction
should not last longer than from one hour to
an hour and a half. Three acts of one hour
each, or four acts of from a half-hour to three-
quarters of an hour, with fifteen-minute in-
tervals, may be considered as the maximum
for an opera-evening, excepting possibly during
some festival season. In no case ought one
forcibly to expand a one-act subject so as to
fill an entire evening. Nowadays the mass
of operagoers do not enjoy sitting through
more than four acts, and after all one goes to
the theatre for the enjoyment, not as the slave,
of art. The form of the five-act Grand Opera,
as affected by Meyerbeer, is now probably
given up for good because of its length. Re-
strict changes of scene within the acts as far
as possible. Only the modern sectional or
revolving stages, which are not at the com-
mand of all theatres, permit of frequent and
rapid scenic changes. Scene-shifting in the
course of an act is at best disturbing to the
mood, however cleverly it may be bridged over
by musical interludes. With every scenic
shift or change a piece begins anew for the
audience. On no account should more than
one change of scene occur in an act, and then
only when there is a peremptory reason for it.
Only unskillful dramatists declare that they
cannot get along without frequent changes of
scene. On reflection one usually finds a sur-
[39]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
prisingly easy way out of the difficulty. Do
not cite Shakespeare's example to the con-
trary, for his stage was innocent of the modern
impedimenta of scenic decoration, and his
dramatic technic (often related to that of our
moving pictures) could therefore be different
from that obtaining at present. The far too
frequent scene-changes in Mozart's operas
require a revolving or sliding stage, otherwise
the numerous pauses destroy the illusion.
And when some new construction is insisted on,
consider how long its setting-up will require.
You will do best to consult a stage-manager,
who can tell you precisely how many minutes
will be needed (more especially by the ladies,
if with change of costume), for a change of
scene. Adapt your musical interlude accord-
ingly; but don't compose after the recipe
"Now I have only 3 minutes' worth of music —
where can I get another 7 minutes' worth?"
Start your interlude as nearly fortissimo as
possible (for at the beginning the noises of
scene-shifting are at their height), and con-
ceive it at the outset in so broad a form that it
will need no expansion later, otherwise the
"patching" will be painfully evident. The
matter is simplest when a scene occupying only
the front of the stage is changed to one occupy-
ing its entire depth, or the reverse. In the
former case a great part of the scenery can
[40]
Laws of Construction
be placed before the change; in the latter, the
rear decorations can be easily and swiftly
masked behind a new drop scene. When both
scenes require the full depth of the stage, the
change naturally demands a much longer time.
The above practical suggestions are often left
out of the calculation, but their timely
application will save much work and worry.
Even Schiller once remarked: "I should be so
unphilosophical as .to exchange everything I
know about elementary aesthetics for one em-
pirical advantage, one trick of the trade."
How the first draught ought to be framed
can be most clearly and profitably learned from
Wagner's sketches for "Die Meistersinger,"
"Tristan," and "Parsifal." It is in the three
sketches to "Die Meistersinger" that one can
most readily follow the progress of the work;
and still, although in these we already find
the externals of the action established in their
entirety with hardly a break, how weak and
colorless it all appears contrasted with the
lifelike organization of the essential plot, which
became manifest only in the complete working-
out of the sketches. Just this point character-
izes the real master; he is not satisfied with his
work until he has exploited the ultimate
possibilities of the subject.
The choice of a title is very important;
above all, it should be short, and designed
141]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
to fit into a playbill — for poster-effect; not
over three or four words. Keep the fact in
view that the title should whet the public
appetite, but without revealing anything
essential. Make up all the titles you can
think of, and then, with your friends' help,
choose the most effective one. "The title
must not be a bill of fare," says Lessing. "The
less it reminds of the plot, the better."
It is advisable not to -undertake to write
out the sketch before you are quite clear in your
own mind as to the course of the action. One
should sit in the centre of the dramatic web
like a spider; then the figures of the drama will
grow more and more lifelike, and must move
the author's soul by day and by night as if
they were living beings. They must con-
tinually inspire new ideas and combinations
in their creator's brain, till all at once, sooner
or later, all the personages and situations stand
out so distinctly and tangibly that he can rid
his teeming fancy of the superfluity of images
only by imprisoning them in writing. It is
particularly helpful to explain the course of
the action orally to some friendly expert in
stage-matters; then the most difficult problem
may find ready solution in conversation, and
unimagined possibilities present themselves.
Now — take pen in hand, but not before. This
advice is based on a good reason — speech is
[42 J
Laws of Construction
more true to life than writing. Whoever
trusts his pen rather than • his conceptive
faculty, will never produce a genuine drama.
Now, from the very start, keep steadily
in view the three chief points in the drama:
1. The Exposition:
2. The Development.
3. The Denouenient.
Experience shows the central portion, the
development, to be the least difficult. The
exposition is extremely difficult, and can be
carried out to perfection only by a master of
the art. Most difficult of all, and decisive
for the fate of the piece, is the denouement.
Most dramas "fall off" after the climax. The
hearer's interest relaxes, and the effect of the
piece is destroyed. Therefore, first of all,
fix your attention upon the framing of a good
close. This close, however, must not be
pieced on as a mere afterthought, but must
appear as a necessary consequence of all that
has gone before. Of similar, and not much
less importance, is the close of the first act;
if by that time the spectator has not been
"warmed up," if his interest is not sufficiently
aroused, it will be no easy matter to overcome
his indifference later; besides, boredom in the
theatre, like interest, has an uncanny way of
[43]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
infecting others. Nietzsche once remarked,
"One feels his neighborhood" — that is, the
mood of the majority in the audience imposes
itself on the rest, even on recalcitrant spirits.
If his subject is good for anything, even
an author of comparatively slight ability will
succeed in shaping his climax effectively. On
the other hand, supposing we have three acts,
if the middle act-close fails of effect the whole
piece may be given up for lost. Hardly one
work can be named that improves toward the
end after beginning and middle have failed.
Moral: — Be extremely careful with your very
first lay-out of the piece.
Strange as it may sound to the beginner,
\ comic subjects are decidedly more difficult to
\ work up than tragic ones. And why? Be-
cause the tragic action, after adequate
exposition, carries on of itself, so to speak,
for in this case, once the fundamental mood is
established, the approaching catastrophe over-
spreads even the weaker passages of the drama
with the gloomy shadow of death; because the
tragic hero's career must end with his destruc-
tion, and nothing else can be expected. Per
contra^ the comic subject demands new humor-
is tic imaginings at every turn; a single dull
scene may have such a tiresome effect that the
audience does not get over it. The difference
between tragedy and comedy might be defined
[44]
Laws of Construction
as that between "fearful suspense" and "hope-
ful suspense." But the basic laws of suspense
are the same in both, as, in the musical cadence,
the Dominant is the same in major as in minor.
Moreover, there are many possible forms of
denouement, and of these the one most pro-
vocative of suspense should be chosen; the
author should not show his hand too early, but
astonish his audience at the last moment by a
solution that the cleverest among the specta-
tors would scarcely have hit upon. Sardou,
assuredly one of the most artful exponents
of dramatic technique, witnessed the failure
of his ill-planned dramatic firstling. What
did he do'i He went to the country, taking
along a number of Scribe's masterworks with
which he was still unfamiliar; read of each
only the first act, then sketched a continuation
of the action, and finally compared his as yet
bungling attempts with the skillful denoue-
ments of the original. Thus he at last acquired
his own never-failing technical mastery. Scribe
himself, it is said, forgot in later years the
action of his earlier works — no matter for
surprise, considering his wholesale productivity
— but liked to attend performances of such
old pieces. When affairs grew highly compli-
cated, he would laughingly exclaim: "Now
Fm really curious to see how I disentangled
myself!"
[45]
\
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
While elaborating your plot you must,
above all, see to it that the form of the action
is truly dramatic.
What is "dramatic"? It is almost im-
possible to answer that question concisely.
The late Freiherr Alfred von Berger, director of
the Vienna Hofburg Theatre, wittily observed
in his spirited "Dramaturgische Vortrage"
(Dramaturgic Discourses) that the attempts to
state the mysterious essence of dramatic art
in a formula not infrequently reminded him
of the attempts of the Wise Men of- Gotham
to dip up the sunlight in pitchers and to
catch it in artfully contrived mousetraps, so
as to transport it into their dark townhall.
But even Berger's own definition advances
us not a step in practice, for it turns about in
a circle. One might just as well say, "What
has dramatic effect, is dramatic." With no
pretension of doing better than others have
done, I venture, from a purely practical stand-
point, to define the nature of dramatic art
thus briefly:
An unbroken chain of growingly intensified
situations^ resulting in actions which consist-
ently follow one after the other ^ and leading up to
a striking denouement^ is dramatic.
It seems to me that in this definition the
principal difficulties in the technics of the
drama are likewise suggested:
146]
Laws of Construction
1. The situations of which the drama is
constructed must form an unbroken chain
with correspondingly growing intensification.
Such continuous intensification is the essence
of the drama, failing which it never interests.
But only such an intensification is effective
which is part and parcel of the general plot.
The situations must follow each other in un-
broken succession, i.e., the auditor must be
informed betimes concerning all essential points
of the drama, more especially antecedent
events, otherwise there will be an annoying
break in his apprehension of the plot. For
the same reason, nothing essential should
occur between acts that is not immediately
explained. The imagination of the auditors
themselves will correctly interpret subordinate
episodes. Situations that do not lead up to
actions, fall quite as flat as mere talk and
analyses of feeling.
2. One chief rule for the drama is, not to
present a desultory succession of scenes like
those of the *^movies," but rather an organic,
logical development of the entire action out
of the germ-cells of the drama as they are set
forth by the characters and in the situations of
the principals at the beginning of the play.
A question of the highest importance is, at
what point of time the drama shall commence.
If it begins too early, time is wasted in ex-
[471
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
plaining petty details; if too late, the exposition
is overweighted.
3. Climax and denouement are the goals
toward which the action must unswervingly
pursue its course. These two points may
either (as in the newest dramatic technic)
coincide at the close, or the climax may occur
in the midst of the play, the action then
following a downward curve until the denoue-
ment, which must necessarily be striking.
Which course to take, in any given case,
depends on the subject. Formulas fitting
each individual case are non-existent. It is,
naturally, most effective when the action "in-
tensifies" up to the close.
These important bases being established,
let us take up the difficult art of the "opening"
and preparation — the Exposition.
"Tell me how you 'open' your play, and I
will tell you what kind of dramatist you are,"
one might say to any author before the rise
of the curtain or before reading his opening
scenes. In fact, 'there is nothing in which
the beginner so instantly differentiates him-
self from the "old hand," as in the difficult
art of beginning. For, as to its words, the
beginning is seldom quite clearly understood
by the hearer, and must also give the musician
an opportunity for deploying his motives,
whereby not only the so-called leading-motives
[48]
Laws of Construction
are meant (one can make shift without them!),
but those hidden motives of action that the
musician alone can typify. (Consider, for
example, in Act I of "Die Walkxire," whose
opening is masterly, how much is told by
means of music alone, what significant inti-
mate relations, nowhere disclosed in the
words of the drama, are here revealed through
music and dumb-show.) In his "Oper und
Drama" Wagner says: "The characteristic
difference between word-poet and tone-poet
consists in this: — That the word-poet con-
centrates infinitely dispersed elements of
action, emotion, and expression, perceptible
only by the intellect, on a single point that
brings them as closely as possible into touch
with our feelings; whereas the tone-poet has
to expand this elemental concentration to
the fullest expression of its emotional content."
This concentration which Wagner demands
of the poet is, however, nowhere more diffi-
cult of achievement than at the opening of
the drama.
At the beginning one should ask, first of
all. What is it absolutely essential for the
spectator to know.^ Clearly, the answer to
this question depends upon what precedes
the rise of the curtain. The less that has to
be told about antecedent events, the better
is the subject (e.g., "Carmen"). For every
[49]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
important incident occurring before the rise
of the curtain must be somehow interwoven
with the action — must be set before the
audience. The more these epic elements are
translated into actions, the more animated
the play becomes. Heinrich Laube, one of
the greatest theatrical experts of all times,
always paid most scrupulous attention to the
staging of the opening scenes: "And nobody
ever made the exposition so telling, as Laube,"
Take, for instance, the complicated ante-
cendent history of "Tristan und Isolde,"
which in part is not cleared up until the
second and third acts (to explain it fully in
the first act would have overburdened the
action). But in how masterly fashion is the
story of Isolde's past here detailed, as it were,
bit by bit. An unskilled dramatist would
have let Brangane ask, at the outset, "How
was it then, in truth, 'twixt thee and Tristan".?
— whereupon Isolde, as in duty bound, would
have told an endlessly tedious tale. Wagner
transports us at once in medias res. Already,
in the seemingly artless ditty of the Young
Sailor, which at first blush merely impresses a
mood, there is hidden a good bit of "exposi-
tion" — voyage eastward from Ireland to the
homeland of the crew; longing of a forsaken
Irish maiden, characterized as a "wilde minnige
Maid," This song of the Young Sailor,
[50]
La^^ of Construction
sung wholly without allusive intent, but felt
as a mock by Isolde, the "wildly lovelorn"
Irish maiden, unconstrainedly gives the initial
impulse to the dialogue between Isolde and
Brangane, so essential for explaining what had
gone before. Here I cannot undertake the
task of analyzing the opening of "Tristan" in
detail; I would only point out how the very
first and apparently casual words of the drama
may — and must — convey important facts.
The most important matters of all ought not
to be set at the beginning, for special reasons;
the onlooker must be given a certain length of
time to "make himself at home" in the play.
The "first aid" to this end is the overture,
which should not be devised merely for the
introduction of the principal thematic material
of the music (since any given potpourri of any
desired melodies would answer that purpose),
but must attune the hearer to the mood, the
spirit, of the work; of this sort the preludes to
"Lohengrin," "Tristan," "Die Meistersinger"
and "Parsifal" are wonderful examples, and
also Mozart's overtures, among which the one
to "Figaro" is a familiar example of an over-
ture without a single theme in common with
its opera, but none the less induces that mood
of genial gayety which is proper to a good in-
terpretation of the masterwork. The recent
fashion of raising the curtain after a brief pre-
[511
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
lude of a few measures, is not always to be
approved; the hearer is often not sufficiently
"warmed up" to enter instantly into the spirit
of the opening scene, and in theatres where
late-comers are not excluded, disturbances are
likely to arise which spoil the enjoyment of
the beginning opera for more punctual auditors.
Preferable to the very few introductory meas-
ures now in vogue is a real overture which,
though short, creates the atmosphere of the
coming drama, as in the case of "Carmen"
and "Aida." We have dwelt upon this point
because the overture or prelude forms, as it
were, the very first exposition of \the musical
drama; besides, the manner in which the
musician begins has an important bearing
on the construction of the book. The overture
may be said to take the place of the Prologue
in the antique drama, just as the orchestra, to
a degree, replaces the antique Chorus. The
modern prologue usual since Shakespeare, and
without connection with the action, is merely
an address by the poet; in opera it has been
successfully employed but once (by Leon-
cavallo in "Pagliacci"), and can be used in
the rarest instances, when the subject is
peculiarly favorable. The rule is, therefore,
that immediately following overture or prelude
the rising curtain discloses the scene. Now
we must not forget that at this moment the
[52]
Laws of Construction
attention of a large majority of the spectators —
especially of those unacquainted with the
piece — is fastened on the stage-picture, so
that what is said or sung is just now not of the
first importance; rather should the spectator
have time to scrutinize the scene of action and
the participating personages at his leisure.
An author who loses sight of this fact, and
starts in with some material bit of dialogue,
will discover to his sorrow that all his trouble
was wasted — that no one understood the
beginning. In the spoken drama, which, be-
sides, usually suffers even more than the opera
from disquieting restlessness among the audi-
ence, one commonly has recourse to "padding"
with unimportant talk of general application,
leading into the more significant dialogue only
after some minutes. In opera the somewhat
conventional, but not wholly unpractical,
method is to start with a chorus whose sole
business it is to illustrate musically the time,
the place, and the mood, thereafter vanishing
from the scene. Nowadays, of course, this
procedure can be adopted only when such a
chorus can be introduced quite naturally and
unconstrainedly, and in that case it helps us
out of a certain embarrassment; consider how
admirably the chorus of the idly seated soldiers
of the watch characterizes the general situa-
tion at the beginning of "Carmen," or how
153]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
significantly the chorus at the opening of "Der
Freischiitz" intervenes in the action after the
close of their number. In case the chorus
takes no important part in the action during
the course of the play, it is better to forgo its
cooperation entirely, especially as chorus-
operas, on account of the numerous rehearsals,
are in disfavor with our stage-managements.
Another way out of the difficulty, exquisitely
employed by Wagner at the opening of "Tann-
hauser," is the dance. Its placing in the opera
at the beginning of an act is doubtless better
justified, dramatically, than the formerly
favored injection into a dramatic scene which
is thereby brought to a standstill. And still
other possibilities present themselves, among
which the above-noted song of the Young
Sailor at the opening of "Tristan," and the
trio of the Rhine-daughters at the beginning
of "Rheingold," may be cited as ingenious
variations of the old opera-plan. The chorale
with which "Die Meistersinger" opens shows
us how that plan may be fruitfully modified;
and the opening scene portraying Walter's
love for Evchen and her reciprocation thereof
shows how, without a single word, only by
gesture and orchestral interludes, so important
a fact can be most admirably revealed. So
mark this point: At the beginning of the first
act (and preferably at the beginning of each
[ 54 1;
Laws of Construction
succeeding act) something ought to stand
which, while organically connected with the
main plot, must not be of such fundamental
importance that the hearer has to take heed of
every word. If you dislike the stereotyped
chorus, you will probably do better with a
pantomimic scene after Wagner's pattern, or
at least with a scene where there is more action
than dialogue (e.g., beginning of "Figaro").
Not until the spectator's curiosity regarding
the characters, decorations and costumes has
been satisfied, is there any sense in commencing
the real action.
Gustav Freitag called this very first in-
troduction into a drama, dealt with above, the
"first chord." To carry out the idea one might
add that this "first chord" should never enter
with a dramatic fortissimo^ for then all possi-
bility of intensification is cut oiF. However,
this "chord" may be struck as firmly and im-
pressively as the character of the piece permits;
but here one point must be insisted on — ex-
treme brevity. Concerning this point you
might study, for instance, the beginning of
"Lohengrin." The best method is to contrive
the opening as a part of the development.
Such is the case precisely in "Lohengrin,"
where the King's address already Contains
significant details of the plot (the menacing
of the realm by foreign foes, the domestic dis-
[SS]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
sension in Brabant, the King's intention to
hold a court).
After the "opening chord" there enters
(and preferably, in the sung drama, immedi-
ately) the impulsive element^ one might call it
the "self-starter." This impulsive element may
appear in very various shapes, and, first of
all, may be brought into the action either
by the "hero" or by his "adversary." To
make this point clearer, let us settle in
our own minds what we are to understand
by the terms intrigue and counter-intrigue in
the drama.
I Contrast, antagonism, is the life-blood of
the drama. It must present, not persons of
similar character, but individuals of most
various type, and yet all striving to gain the
same end; that is, it must present a conflict, be
it serious or playful. The persons (characters)
sustaining the drama always divide into two
groups- of antagonistic aim (intrigue and
counter-intrigue), which dominate the dra-
matic action proper. Thus the action and the
grouping of the actors become bipartite, like
two hostile camps. Now, all great dramatists
observe the elementary rule, not to bestow all
the light on one side and all the shadow on the
other. ■ A contest between perfect angels and
perfect fiends is not only tiresome, monotonous,
and absolutely undramatic; it is, besides j
[561
Laws of Construction
untrue to life in a profounder sense. (Shake-
speare's "Othello" — I ago and Desdemona — is
only apparently at variance with this rule.)
Neither absolutely perfect nor altogether
depraved human beings can be found, and
it is just the blending of good and evil in each
individual that lends a peculiar fascination to
his personality. On the stage the sole question
is, Which feeling is the more strongly enlisted
with regard to a character, our sympathy or
our antipathy.^ A person in whom we dis-
cover a bit of ourselves, will always have our
sympathy; our antipathy is generally directed
against one whose nature differs from ours; we
are indifferent towards one who excites neither
liking nor dislike. The indifferent character,
unhappily a too frequent type in Nature's
limitless production, is not available for the
drama. Not a single person of the indifferent
species should confront us on the stage; even
the smallest roles ought to arouse our sym-
pathy or antipathy to some degree. Now
let us examine to what extent the characters
of the "hero" and the "villain" have the power
to thrill us, positively or negatively. One
chief rule of the drama is this — to motivate
(i.e., to show the incentives for) each person's
course of action and the development of his
character, either for good or for evil. It must
be shown how the likable person gets into
[S7]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
difficulties precisely on account of his good
qualities (but not how he finds himself ac-
cidentally in trouble); on the other hand,
some adequate motive (and not necessarily
one wholly offensive to the auditor) must
be found even for the greatest piece of rascal-
ity. Intrigue and counter-intrigue must
interest us in equal measure, and each party
must be thoroughly justified from its own
standpoint in doing what it does in the drama.
The pointer of the balance should in due course
begin to incline only very gradually toward
one side or the other. Again we find a lumin-
ous example in "Lohengrin," in which the
small number of principals can easily be
classified in our scheme. Here the intrigue
is unquestionably carried on by Lohengrin
and Elsa, the counter-intrigue by Telramund
and Ortrud. The King represents the neutral
power of exalted justice, that holds sway
without respect of persons.
In the beginning of the action the King is
precisely as well affected toward Telramund
as toward Elsa; only the issue of the ordeal
by combat causes him to take Elsa's part
decisively. Above all, take note of the fact
that Telramund is not the conventional stage-
villain, although one may find him played as
such on certain mediocre stages. An in-
genious device of Wagner's consists in letting
[58]
Laws of Construction
Telramund act in perfect good faith until
his death, so that all his actions result from
this confidence in his rectitude. The King's
significant statement, that he knows Tel-
ramund to be "the pearl of all virtues,"
holds good throughout the course of the
drama. But it is Telramund's tragic destiny
to put blind faith in Ortrud's words, and thus
to enmesh himself in wrongdoing. So there
can be no doubt that this counter-intrigue
even compels our sympathy, and just by this
means our interest in the play is intensified.
(Only immature youths and flappers are
always a-tremble in the theatre for "their"
hero or "their" heroine, losing sight of the
justifiability for the counter-intrigue.) But
even Ortrud is no evildoer of the vulgar stripe.
She is the daughter of a princely line, full of
ancestral pride, dating back to ancient heathen-
dom, whose very nature revolts against Chris-
tendom and a new princely dominion. All
her perfidiousness and craftiness, which must
surely arouse the auditor's disfavor, serve
only the lofty aim of restoring the over-
thrown altars of her fathers' gods; her defeat is
therefore not purely personal, but symbolizes
the final downfall of the enchanted realm of
heathendom before the almighty power of the
Christian Grail; it is the overthrow of the re-
ligion of hate by the recognition of forgiving
[59]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
love, by reason of which Ortrud's fall assumes
tragic grandeur.
All this really demands a broader treatment
in order to show in detail how sharply and
positively intrigue and counter-intrigue must
be contrasted, and how, although the interest
we take in the hero will be the greater, his
opponent's character must also be so strongly
individualized as not to be at once effaced
by impact with the principal personages.
Nothing should be made easy for the hero;
his victory or defeat must ensue as the final
result of the conflict with adversaries worthy
of his steel; indeed, the more powerful these
adversaries appear, the more stoutly and in-
dependently they bear themselves, the more
terrible will be the catastrophe for the hero, or
the more brilliant his success. This applies
equally to the tragic drama and to comedy.
Two possibilities always oiFer themselves
to the poet, and which of these he shall choose
depends solely upon the nature of his subject:
He may lead off his drama either from the
side of the "intrigue" (hero) or from that of
the "counter-intrigue" (villain) ; that is, the ex-
position may present the position and motives
of either of the leading characters first. "Lo-
hengrin" (to cite this instructive example
again) unrolls the situation of the hero and
heroine before our eyes during the fixst act;
[601
Laws of Construction
the part played by their opponents is not
effectively presented until the beginning of
the second act. The counter-intrigue, chiefly
carried on by Ortrud, takes hardly more than
a passive part in the larger portion of the
first act; it is a characteristic point that
Ortrud's participation in the action of Act I
is essentially of a pantomimic nature, yet
her pantomime must be so speaking that her
importance as leader of the counter-intrigue
is manifest to every beholder. In "Tristan''
and "Walkure," too, the first act is similarly
constructed. Reversely, the mirthful action of
"Die Meistersinger" advajices, after the open-
ing, by way of the counter-intrigue; the first
climax (close of Act I) shows Walter apparently
defeated, with the counter-intrigue, personified
in Beckmesser, triumphant. It is only with
the second act that the "intrigue" (carried
on by Hans Sachs for Walter and Evchen)
begins to set the "villain" at a decided dis-
advantage. Altogether, the plot of "Die
Meistersinger" displays far finer ramifications
than that of "Lohengrin," and is therefore
deserving of more detailed analysis. For the
present our only aim was to elucidate the
meaning of "intrigue" and "counter-intrigue,"
quite apart from the subjective difference
'teiir^en the development of a tragic action
and the action of a comedy, whose construction,
[61]
\
1
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
to be sure, is in many respects subject to the
same laws. In general, when a serious subject
is in question, that form of construction is
more favorable for the hero which presents
him at first as taking an active part. "The
essence of the drama is conflict and tension;
the sooner these are brought into play and
carried on by the hero himself, the better."
(Freytag.)
To return to the "impulsive element"
(which Freytag calls das erregende Moment^
this being translated by William Archer as
"the firing of the fuse," "joining the issue").
For the introductioji of the "impulsive ele-
ment" (a term whose meaning will now be set
forth more clearly) two modes are again open
to the author's choice: It may be introduced
at some moment when the hero arrives at a
decision of importance for the subsequent
action; or when the "counter-intrigue" com-
mences to take an active part in the develop-
ment. This impulsive element is one of the
most momentous points of the plot; indeed,
we may say that an author who fails here to
excite and interest his audience, has lost the
game. Now, it seems to be demanded by the
organization of the dramatic construction that
the best way to proceed should be as follows:
When the action advances by way of the "in-
trigue," the impulsive element should be
[62]
/
Laws of Construction
introduced by the "counter-intrigue"; on the
other hand, when the "counter-intrigue"
carries the action, the hero should introduce
the impulsive element. Here we again take
contrasting examples from "Lohengrin" and
"Meistersinger." In "Lohengrin," whose ac-
tion is led off by the "intrigue," Telramund
introduces the impulsive element, the terrible
charge of fratricide against Elsa. In "Die
Meistersinger," where the "counter-intrigue"
first sets in, the impulsive element is Walter's
decision to win Evchen by assuming the role
of a mastersinger. This decision of Walter's
is just as significant for the plot of "Die
Meistersinger" as Telramund's charge is for
the action of "Lohengrin."
At this point the Exposition, in the narrow-
est sense of the term, ends; the action has been
set in motion, interest is excited, "intrigue"
or "counter-intrigue" has pointedly declared
itself, and now the conflict can soon begin
along a line already established with precision.
The real dramatic intensification sets in, and
the number of steps required for its con-
summation depends entirely upon the subject-
matter. It follows, that this intensification
can comprise several "scenes," whose structure
we still have to examine in detail. These
scenes must, of course, be so arranged as to
contrast with each other and at the same time
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
to so supplement and complete each other as to
build up a unified Whole, and so that the in-
terest of the onlooker is excited and held
uninterruptedly until the climax and close of
the act. And now any other persons actively
connected with the main plot, who have not
yet been introduced, must be brought forward
in a conspicuous manner, excepting when one
has in mind to utilize them for some special
heightening of the effect in the second act.
In this latter case (recall, for instance. King
Marke and Melot in "Tristan,'' and the
Countess in "Figaro") the bearing of such
characters on the further action ought here
and now to be decisively indicated.
If we do not intend to squeeze the living
soul of the drama into chapter and verse
(as even Freytag did in his celebrated book),
or to classify in categorical succession that
which is a living organic complex, we must
already consider an important question:
How does one characterize?
In answer to this question I can only
enumerate a few of the artifices employed by
craftsmen; for the true art of characterization
is to be learned from life alone, not with help
of any theoretical directions. Anyone who
surveys the world with unclouded eye, who has
learned not only to watch attentively many
[64]
Laws of Construction
varieties of human beings in what they openly
do and fail to do, but also to penetrate their
secret motives, will gradually acquire the
preliminary knowledge needed for sharply
outlined characterization. But the drawing
of a character in the drama is totally different
from that of a personage in a novel. What
has to be done in the drama is, to provide, by
means of a few concise suggestions, a sketch
to which lifelike reality is imparted in mien and
gesture through actual presentation by the
actor.
Here the chief maxim is. Introduce no
subordinate details, however characteristic;
only such traits should be emphasized as are
of real importance for the progress of the action,
that is, for the motives of the persons taking
part. From this fundamental rule is derived
another — that all features in the original sub-
ject-matter which might tend to diminish the
dramatic value of a character, should be
dropped or modified.
The manner in which a character is intro-
duced is likewise a matter of fundamental
importance. On the stage, as in real life, the
first impression is decisive. We find it hard
to change our opinions, and when a person
has once made an impression on us by a
strongly sympathetic or antipathetic action,
it is extraordinarily difficult for us to change
[65 i
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
our minds — indeed, it makes us particularly
uncomfortable if we are unable to reconcile
his later conduct with our first impression.
That sudden diversion of the action into a
direction not anticipated by the audience,
which is one of the dramatist's principal effects,
must not be undertaken with respect to the
characterization.
f Old Aristotle, in his "Poetics/' already
stated the eternal dramaturgic truth that the
Action should be the first and chiefest matter,
the Persons taking second place. This does
not mean, of course, that the drawing of the
characters should be neglected. On the con-
trary, it is of extraordinary importance for
the finer ramifications of the action that their
motivation should proceed from the charac-
ters themselves. To carry out the architec-
tonic simile we might say that the action is
the mere shell of the house, while the character-
ization displays its interior arrangement. But
one must first have the house ready in all its
parts before one can habitably arrange it
for the ^^persons," although one must naturally
take into consideration, even in the rough
draught, the individual requirements of the
several inhabiting personalities. The mutual
relations between characters and action can
nowhere be more instructively studied than
by a comparison of the sketches for "Die
1^6]
Laws of Construction
Meistersinger" with the finished poem. We
shall then speedily comprehend a clever and
pointed observation of Diderot's in a dra-
maturgic essay: The plan of a drama can be
made, and even well made, before the author
knows anything about the character with
which he is to endow his personages. Human
beings of very diverse character are always
exposed to the same casualties. One who
sacrifices his daughter may be ambitious, weak,
or obstinate; one who is alarmed for his sweet-
heart may be a philistine or a hero, tender or
jealous, prince or servant. The characters
will be well chosen when the situations are
made more difficult or exciting by the choice.
Out of the endless variety of human
characters the Art of Drama very early
selected certain types which, with some more
or less considerable modifications, continually
reappear in the end at all periods and among all
peoples. It smacks of the mechanical and
conventional wheii we hear an actor or
singer everlastingly talking about his or her
"specialty"; and yet the mere term "specialty"
does not necessarily lead to a mere swapping of
shop talk. Any actor, however versatile he
may be, after all possesses certain advantages
or disadvantages in voice, appearance and
age, which confine him within positive limits.
And this being the case in the spoken drama,
[e7]
/
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
in opera the "specialties" will be still more
strictly limited, as singing voices are more
sharply differentiated than speaking voices.
So, if we would not sacrifice one of the most
characteristic and beautiful peculiarities of the
musical drama, the ensemble, to a theoretical
delusion to which Wagner himself had not by
any means always' subscribed in practice, the
librettist must be fairly well informed as to
how his roles are to be distributed among the
various classes of voice and of specialty actors.
As a practical example, take the well-considered
voice-distribution in "Die Meistersinger,"
whose musical crowning-point is presented
by the famous quintet. The usual dramatic
roles (without taking account of intermediate
and farcical parts in detail) may be divided into
the following basic classes, in which the prin-
cipal contrasts among humankind (man and
woman, young and old, high and low, heroic
and ignominious, serious and merry, good and
bad) are likewise included.
Hero, Heroine (Leading man. Leading
woman).
Heavy father, Heavy mother (Leading old
man. Leading old woman). (Heavy villain.
Heavy lead).
Elderly comedian. Elderly comedienne
(First light or low com.).
[681
Laws of Construction
r
Elderly lover (either sex).
Light juvenile comedian, comedienne.
Excentric comedian, Chambermaid (Bonvi-
vant, Soubrette).
Second low comedian, Ingenue.
In the opera we specify, according to class
of voice or character:
Soprano: dramatic and juvenile dramatic,
coloratura, soubrette.
Mezzo-soprano: serious or comic.
Alto: serious or comic.
Tenor: heroic, lyric, buffo.
Baritone: serious or comic.
Bass: serious or comic.
Now, it is not quite so simple as one is apt
to think, to unite these acting roles with
singing roles in such a way that a really
satisfactory combination results. For modern
operas are — I am tempted to say, unfortunately
— no longer, as they still were in Italy at
Rossini's time, written to order for some
particular ensemble which the composer had
opportunity to study during his work. Nowa-
days operas are mostly composed, as it were,
at random, without knowing (except in the
case of a few favored instances) in the least
where or by whom they will first be performed.
This is like planning a house without knowing
[69]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
where it is to be built or who will live in it.
In view of this drawback one cannot be too
urgently advised to adhere as closely as may
be to traditional roles (types), for that is the
only way in which an author can insure his
work against an absolutely perverted and
inadequate performance. To one who prefers
the concrete to the abstract I would offer
this good advice: If you live in a place where
there is a halfway efficient opera, keep the
members of the company in view as you work;
always imagine — even if you do not mean to
have your opera given there — how one singer
or another, who most nearly approaches some
type of your fancy, would sing or act that
particular part; this will save you from the
worst mistakes. And, more especially, observe
whether a theatre of average size is in a position
to furnish capable players for the roles your
work requires, viewed as one in the regular
repertory. (These remarks are not intended
for people who expect to have Festspielhduser
erected for their particular benefit; neither
geniuses nor megalomaniacs will have any
use for them.) Just here many a beginner
has blundered, to his everlasting hurt. It
is self-evident, in consideration of the rarity
of fine, big tenor voices and of the huge re-
muneration which their lucky possessors
receive, that composers have to be sparing
[70]
Ldws of Construction
in their use of such expensive material. Be-
sides, one big tenor role, either heroic or lyric,
is quite sufficient; alongside of this, excepting
for a few very small parts, only a tenor buffo
will usually be available. Study and admire
Wagner's practical economy in this matter. —
Of course, the class of voice you choose
must be in correspondence with the character
of the hero, who will in all probability be a
tenor or a baritone — very seldom a bass.
For a radiant hero (Tannhauser, Lohengrin,
Siegfried, Tristan, Parsifal, etc.) the choice
will always fall on an heroic tenor; a daemonic
hero will be represented by a baritone (Don
Juan, the Dutchman, etc.). For a jovial hero
(Figaro) a light baritone is preferable to a
tenor on account of its greater flexibility. To
the heroic tenor the dramatic soprano is the
counterpart; to the lyric tenor, the juvenile
dramatic soprano; to the baritone buffo or the
tenor buffo, the soubrette. Somewhat out-
side our modern classification stands the
coloratura soprano, to whom, in modern
operas, hardly any roles except parodistic
ones are likely to be given. And even such
roles are conditioned on the composer's ability
to write coloratura parts — something one can-
not say for Richard Strauss as regards his Zer-
binetta. Touching the identity of the serious
bass with the "heavy father," of the bass
[71]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
buffo with the elderly "light comedian," no
words need be wasted. The alto voice is
similarly limited, in general, to the character-
ization of elderly "heavy" or "light" come-
diennes; seeing that really fine alto voices are
growingly scarce, one often does better to
employ a mezzo-soprano. You will do well,
after sketching your plan, to notice how the
principal personages are contrasted in the
principal ensemble scenes, as regards vocal
quality. We know that Meyerbeer used to
make his librettist transpose and remodel
entire scenes when this association of the
voices did not suit him at all points. It is
true that modern dramatic taste no longer
permits that a character should enter merely
and evidently to participate in an ensemble;
but when the entrance of some valuable voice
can be cleverly motivated, the stage-effect is
assuredly heightened by bringing on one's
best troops in full strength at the proper
moment. And the singers, too (as Lortzing
points out in the conversation cited above),
want effective roles above all things, and none
of them cares to sit by himself in his dressing-
room while his colleagues are singing a popular
ensemble. In this particular Wagner learned
more from Meyerbeer and Scribe than he
liked to acknowledge; only he did not cast
his characters for external effect, but for
[72]
«
Laws of Construction
essentially dramatic ends. Special care should
be taken to give the principal singers proper
intervals of rest — a point too often lost sight
of. Some acts in opera are so unskillfuUy
arranged that the hero cannot leave the stage
for a moment; and, being on the stage, he must
be occupied to fit the situation. Therefore,
take care that he has a chance to vanish from
the scene at one time or another. Wagner
brought this about very neatly in the first
and second acts of "Siegfried," although both
rely almost entirely on the leading role. In
such cases, of course, an interesting situation
must immediately follow the hero's dis-
appearance. Beginners often motivate a
principal's exit so* naively that the effect
cannot be otherwise than unintentionally
comical. You should test your work to see
if the requirements of the actor are satisfied,
these being "good roles, strong effects, sparing
the singer's strength, convenient arrangement
of the scenes." And now, first of all, let us
establish precisely what is meant by a "scene,"
and how it is constructed.
Within the Act, whose beginning and end
are clearly marked by the rise and fall of the
curtain, • there is felt a necessity for sub-
divisions, both because of technical consider-
ations (stage-management) and with regard
to intrinsic poetical needs.
[73]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
The Scene is a miniature reflection of the
Act, and is founded on almost the same laws
of construction as the latter. Thus, in the
scene. Exposition, Suspense, and Denouement,
the three principal elements, also play a de-
cisive part. In so far, the spoken drama
corresponds with the sung drama. But now
there appears an important difference between
these two branches of art: Whereas the
spoken drama permits of only the aforesaid
subdivisions, which are derived from the very
nature of the drama, in the earlier "opera,"
which operated solely with finished musical
"numbers," there was the possibility of sub-
dividing the act according to the individual
pieces of music. Out of this grew the "opera
in numbers," in which the composer no longer
had to set to music organic parts of a dramatic
whole, but simply "numbers," i.e., highly
effective pieces of music without inner con-
nection, which were frequently even inter-
polated as afterthoughts anywhere in some
very loosely-contrived plot — much as is often
done nowadays in the case of operettas.
Where such a piece of music stood, whether
in the beginning, middle or end of the play,
often made no difference, and even the succes-
sion of these interpolated pieces would be
changed higgledy-piggledy, so that it fre-
quently happened that the pieces were given
[74]
Laws of Construction
to other persons in the drama than those for
whom they were originally intended. It was
Richard Wagner, as we know, who finally put
ah end to this abuse with his "Tannhauser";
for Wagner's earlier works, not excepting
"The Flying Dutchman," which is generally
lauded as opening the new era, still display
the old division into numbers, as the scores
distinctly show. In after-years, to be sure,
Wagner tried to camouflage this state of affairs
by presenting (in his "Gesammelte Schriften
und Dichtungen") the poems of both "Rienzi"
and "The Flying Dutchman" divided accord-
ing to "scenes," so as to make it appear as if
he had grouped these earlier poems with a
view to scenic subdivision, and not from a
purely musical standpoint. And it must be
admitted that the "scenes" of the later reading
outwardly match the earlier "numbers" ex-
actly; but on more careful examination one sees
that the inner construction corresponds rather
with the musical grouping attached to the
score than with the new dramatic disposition.
At all events, the fact that the old musical
terminology could here so easily be converted
into scenic paraphrase proves how far Wagner's
creative consciousness had already turned
toward the logical division into scenes while
he was outwardly as yet in bondage to the
old order in numbers. This become? even
[75]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
clearer in "Tannhauser." Here we still see
a veiled glimmer of the "number" style
(Elisabeth's entrance aria, Wolfram's romance,
the building-up of the finales), but the purely
dramatic construction of the poem has ad-
vanced so far that the Acts are no longer
divided from a musical, but from a dramatic,
viewpoint. Thus the first act logically divides
into four scenes, the second also into four, the
third into three, each of which forms in itself
a complete musico-dramatic Whole. Here-
with we have arrived at an important stage;
henceforward musical and dramatic groupings
coincide; the "number" no longer stands con-
trasted with the "scene," for the scene becomes,
so to say, a number. And so that old difficulty
is removed which is noticeable, at least on the
surface, even in "The Marriage of Figaro."
Mozart's librettist had made the attempt,
never again repeated, to subdivide his book
not only according to vocal numbers, but
also according to dramatic scenes. There-
upon arose a distinct discrepancy between
the dramatic and musical groupings. For
example, the first act contained eight scenes,
but nine numbers (within the numbers the
scene frequently changes, and within the
scenes the number!). To this is added the
inconvenience, that the numbers run con-
secutively through the whole opera, whereas
[76]
Laws of Construction
u
the numbering of the scenes naturally begins
anew with each act. It is evident that, in
contrast with this confusion, Wagner's term-
inology from "Tannhauser" onward presents
the greatest advantages.
In principle, however, Mozart solved in
Figaro" the problem of the musical drama
quite as completely as Wagner. For Mozart
already recognized the importance of tonality
for dramatic expression, and thereby endowed
long passages of the drama with a well-rounded
unity such as, apart from Weber, it was left
for the zeal of the creator of "Tannhauser" to
rediscover. This is not, of course, the place
for a detailed analysis of these intimate re-
lations between book and music; yet it must
be plain that a good libretto cannot be planned
without taking certain tonal effects into con-
sideration. True enough, such a course is
more a matter of instinct than of intellectual
calculation; but surely one may say: If the
book is, dramatically, well and consistently
constructed, the composer, on his part, will
find the right path. Personally, at least, I
have found that a dramatic "turning-around-
in-a-circle" always finds its musical analogue,
and that, once any dramatic redundance was
recognized, it was always surprisingly easy
to effect the necessary musical reduction, or
"cut." As a composer, too, I had involun-
[77].
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
tarily turned about in a modulatory -circle
and had returned to the key in which I started
at the beginning of the "redundance/' I
find this wholly personal experience corrobo-
rated in an article by Weingartner, "Striche
bei Wagner" [Cuts in Wagner]: "Wherever a
poetical transition is feasible, a musical tran-
sition also results with inexplicable ease."
Contrast of effect is an important matter
for consideration, especially with reference
to the musical construction. Not only the
separate acts, but also the scenes in their
mutual relations, must exhibit the necessary
contrasts. For this point the first act of
"Tannhauser" (in the earlier version), affords
instructive examples. It consists of four
scenes:
1. The Venusberg.
2. Venus and Tannhauser.
3. Tannhauser. A young Shepherd. Pil-
grims.
4. Tannhauser. The Landgrave and the
Singers.
The four. scenes of this act match each other
pairwise in a species of parallel construction
which Wagner, in particular, carried to extreme
perfection. The first scene both corresponds
and contrasts with the third, and the second
scene with the fourth. Between the second
[78]
Laws of Construction
and third scenes there lies, outwardly marked
by the mere lightning-like change of scene,
an amazing, stupendous contrast. Here, the
sultry atmosphere of the "grottoes of bliss";
there, the reanimating breath of new-born
Springtide, combined (what an exquisite
touch!) on the one hand with the activities of
"Frau Venus," the goddess of love, set oif
against "Frau Holda," the bounteous dis-
penser of Spring's gifts. The first and third
scenes are devoted to setting forth these
opposites, the first exclusively as a dance-
scene, the third likewise a purely pantomimic
scene, at least for Tannhauser himself, con-
fronted with whom the figures of the Shepherd
and the Pilgrims are mere staff age enhancing
the illusion. The real action therefore is
strictly confined to the second and fourth
scenes, whose upshot we can briefly indicate
as follows:
Scene 2. Desertion of Venus.
Scene 4. Return to Elisabeth.
In these we again note the sharpest con-
trast. Venus and Elisabeth personify "amor"
and "charitas"; love as enjoyment is Venus's
domain, love as pity that of Elisabeth. That
both conceptions of love are equally justifiable,
so that Venus is not set below Elisabeth, but
on an equality with her, was emphasized
[79]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
sharply enough by Wagner, who defended
himself against the implication that his "Tann-
hauser" revealed a "tendency toward speci-
fically Christian, impotent pietism." ("Eine
Mittheilung an meine Freunde.") So it came
that Wagner in later years even gave a further
development to the character of Venus, in the
so-called Paris version: "My characterization
of Venus was stiff; some few good features,
but no genuine life. Here I have added quite
a number of verses; the goddess of ecstasy
really becomes moving, and Tannhauser's
agony grows real, so that his cry to Maria
bursts from his soul like an outcry of profound
dismay." Here we shall not attempt a dis-
quisition on the value or valuelessness of the
Paris revision. We shall only point out that
dramatically — especially in the economy of
the scenic arrangement — the first act, which
originally was divided into two balanced sec-
tions, lost that balance in the later version,
with the result that the overextended first
half undeniably impairs our impressionability
for the charm of the second part. But note
one important point: As to the first half of
Act I, Wagner characterized this entire section
as simply one tremendous intensification of
effect up to the decisive outcry, "Maria!"
And this "Maria!" ought to burst forth with
such poignant energy, that "from it flows swift
[80]
Laws of Construction
apprehension of the instantly following mar-
vellous disencharming of the Venusberg, and
of the translocation to the home-valley, as the
necessary fulfilment of an imperative demand
by a heart driven to desperate decision.''
Surely, there are but few situations in the
dramatic literature of all periods and peoples,
that may be compared with this thrilling
moment in "Tannhauser/' Let us examine,
exclusively from the standpoint of dramatic
construction, how Wagner prepares this
moment, and how he builds up the second
scene in the first act. The very first gesture
in this scene clearly reveals 'the situation at
the beginning — ^Tannhauser raises his head
convulsively, as if starting up out of a dream;
Venus caressingly draws him back. This
brings before our eyes the most vital contrast
within the scene — the discontent of Tannhau-
ser, sated with the pleasures of the Venusberg,
and the still unwavering love of the goddess,
who will not for the world allow her favorite
knight to depart. From this opposition of
wills arises the conflict of the scene and its
final result: Tannhauser's will wins the day,
but the curse of the goddess pursues him
and never lets him find peace. (We have to
admit that we do not divine the effectiveness
of the goddess's curse until the opening of
the second act, where the menacing Motive of
181]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
the Curse intrudes like a spectre into the
joyous orchestral prelude.) Between begin-
ning and end are all stages of transition, and
it is quite in keeping with dramatic truth that
it seems at moments (for heightening the
suspense) as if Tannhauser had renounced
his purpose and yielded to the desire of the
goddess. This always appears in the first
half of his praise-song, but in the second half
of the song he as regularly returns to his
longing for freedom. Within the scene its
division into grand intensifications is clearly
marked by the triple repetition of the praise-
song (raised by a semitone each time, be it
noted), in which, after celebrating the goddess,
Tannhauser vents his longing for liberty with
ever-increasing vehemence. Now, it is most in-
structive, dramatically, to observe how Venus
reacts each time. Before the first strophe of
the song she does not take Tannhauser's
plaints all too tragically. She replies to him
with a couple of trifling phrases in the tone
of an aggrieved coquette, ending with an
appeal to sing the praises of Ipve and the
goddess of love. Then follows the first strophe
of the song, whose close always runs: "Aus
deinem Reiche muss ich fliehn, o Konigin,
Gottin, lass mich ziehn!" (From thy domain
I must flee: O queen, goddess, let me go!)
Whereas Tannhauser before had only mourn-
[82]
Laws of Construction
fully asked: "Shall I ne'er hear them, never
see them more?" we now hear for the first
time his firm decision to abandon Venus for
ever. Accordingly, she answers in a more
serious tone, yet still thinking she has to do
with a mere momentary whim, a fit of de-
pression; she coaxes him much as a mother
coaxes her spoiled darling, and questions
herself: "Wherein was my love remiss?"
Tannhauser responds with yet more glowing
praise of the goddess of love — but also with
still more vehement desire for freedom. There-
upon Venus starts up passionately, wounded
in her profoundest aiFections, and hurls at him
the reproach:
Thou darest to scorn my love?
Thou praisest it, and still wouldst flee from it?*
My charm has now grown wearisome to thee?
With fine feminine instinct Venus has found
the true reason for his enigmatic attitude, al-
though she is mistaken in supposing that
Tannhauser "scorns" her, for it is only the
war of emotions that drives him to his strangely
contradictory behavior. And for a moment
he attempts to pacify the goddess, calling her
"lovely," and declaring the very excess' of her
charms to be the reason that he must go —
supposedly a sort of "compliment" for Venus.
She, however, is not deceived by mere phrases
born of embarrassment. While calling him
[83]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
a traitor, hypocrite, thankless wretch, she none
the less reveals in the same breath, in truly
feminine fashion, that she will not let him go.
But now, when Tannhauser warmly and
openly avows:
Ne'er was my manhood fuller, never truer,
Than now, when I must part from thee forever!
she changes her tone. She knows that an
unfaithful man is more effectively controlled
by loving allurement than by reproaches, and
of the former she is past-mistress. At her
beck is disclosed the blissful grotto:
A feast of joy shall celebrate our union,
In our rejoicing let love's rites be crowned!
Bring thou to love no timid sacrifice —
Nay! with love's goddess taste the ecstasy of bliss.
From afar sounds the seductive song of the
Sirens, and it seems as though Tannhauser,
lost in blissful fascination, were unable to
carry out his determination to depart. Venus
herself, gently urging him on, asks half-jest-
ingly, half-seductively, "My knight, my lover,
wilt thou go?'' And he, in bewildering en-
ravishment, sweeps his harpstrings with
ecstatic mien and for the third time sings the
praise of Venus's charms. And Venus, like
the uninitiate beholder, feels no doubt that
this time, intoxicated by love's allurements,
Tannhauser will finally forfeit his freedom to
[84]
«
Laws of Construction
the goddess. And yet — take note of the
tremendous dramatic revulsion — in the second
half of the praise-song Tannhauser once more
intones his longing for liberty; so steadfast is
his will that only for a moment can it be made
to waver, but remains unbroken. For the
third time he implores the goddess, "Let me
go!" And at this juncture Venus's demeanor
likewise changes; till now only the loving
woman, she reveals herself as the haughty,
ireful goddess. Prophetically she foresees
Tannhauser's wretchedness out in "the world":
"What thou desirest, be thy lot! Depart!"
She feels that sometime he will return, remorse-
ful and broken. Tannhauser's pride hurls
back the defiance: "Ne'er shall I return to
thee!" Thereupon — again how wonderful a
contrast! — the goddess, but now so majestical,
once more becomes the loving woman that
sees herself bereft of her last hope ("Ha!
shouldst thou ne'er return to me"), and there-
fore in utmost desperation launches a curse
upon the whole world — none of humankind
shall enjoy love, if the goddess of love herself
must sigh in vain. And now comes the
grand intensification; Venus plays her last
trump :
Venus: — O come, come back to me again!
Tannhauser: — No more may me love's joy delight!
Venus: — Come back, whene'er thy heart shall plead!
185]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
Tannh.: — ^Thy lover leaves thee now for aye!
Venus: — And if they all should spurn thee forth?
Tannh.: — Repentance lifts the curse from me.
Venus: — Forgiveness ne*er shall make thee whole!
Return, when naught can save thy soul!
Tannh. — My soul — my soul confides in Mary!
{Venus cowers to earth with a cry, and vanishes.
The scene changes with lightning-like swiftness.)
Observe how in this intensification — so
brief in point of time, so overwhelming in effect
— all the elements in the subsequent develop-
ment of the Tannhauser drama are already
anticipated :
"And if they all should spurn thee forth"
(Act II).
"Repentance lifts the curse from me" (Act
II, close).
"Forgiveness ne'er shall make thee whole"
(T.'s pilgrimage).
"My soul confides in Mary" (Elisabeth's
pleading, and martyr-death, in Act III).
One can admire the genius of the youthful
Wagner, who here intuitively found the right
path, only the more unreservedly when one
notes how the later Wagner played the mis-
chief, dramatically, with his own creation in
the Paris version. As Wagner remarked to
Rockel: "But how little can the artist expect
to see his own intention fully reproduced in
[86]
Laws of Construction
any interpretation, when he himself is con-
fronted by ' his art-work as by an enigma,
concerning which he may be as readily de-
ceived as others!*' Compare with the above
quotation the following version^ of the same
situation:
Venus: — Come back to me! Believe me,
My fondest love thou*lt find!
Tannhauser: — Goddess, whoe'er doth leave thee,
Leaves love for aye behind.
Venus: — Resist no longing proudly
That leads thee back to me!
Tannh.: — My longing is for battle;
I seek no bliss, no joys,
O Goddess, mark me rightly,
*Tis death alone I prize!
Venus: — If even Death avoid thee.
Were there no grave for thee!
Tannh.: — My heart shall find thro* penance
Its death and grave in peace.
Venus: — Peace ne'er shall be thy portion.
Nor safety for thy soul!
Come back to me and rest thee.
My love shall make thee whole!
Tannh.: — Goddess of rapture, not in thee —
For peace my soul trusteth in Mary!
( Terrible crash. Venus vanishes.)
^As given in the "Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen,"
this being the real poetic version; for actual performance
according to the Paris version, there is used a poor retransla-
tion of the French text to which Wagner wrote the music.
[87]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
At all events, this comparison of the two
versions is worthy of note if only because it
shows how a master of the drama sought a
similar intensification of the same scene, at
different periods, through the employment
of different means.
The outcry, "My soul confides in Mary!"
unquestionably marks the external climax of
the first act; and yet, in the course of this
same act, it is surpassed by one still more
profoundly moving. "Elisabeth" is the magic
word that marks the climax of the second half
of the act. "Zu ihr! zu ihr!" sounds not at
all like the distressful cry "Maria!" Now
Tannhauser's heart beats high "in siissem,
ungestiimen Drangen," and the gay notes of
the hunting-horns are but an echo from the
hero's own breast. It is worth while to follow
out in detail how this simpler fourth scene of
Act I is worked up to a climax in like fashion
to the second scene. With respect to the
dramatico-musical significance of the scenic
construction following the completed "Tann-
hauser" and the completed "Lohengrin,"
through which he first fully realized the
tendency toward which subconscious instinct
had urged him, Wagner left us the clearest
explanation:
"As the framing of my scenes excluded all
foreign and superfluous details, and con-
[88]
Laws of Construction
centrated interest upon the prevailing mood,
similarly the entire structure of my drama
was built up into a definite unity, whose easily
recognizable members were fashioned out of
precisely those fewer scenes or situations that
were in regular course decisive for the mood.
In none of these scenes was any mood allowed
to develop which did not stand in significant
relation to the moods of the other scenes, so
that the development of moods from scene
to scene and the obvious concatenation of
this development constituted precisely the
unifying element in the expression of the dra-
matic action. Each of these leading moods,
from the very nature of the subject, had to
find its individual musical expression, which
materialized to the sense of hearing as a
definite musical theme. And as, in the course
of the drama, the contemplated amplification
of one decisive principal mood could be pro-
duced only by keeping before the mental
vision the continuing development of moods
from scene to scene, it necessarily followed
that the musical expression, as the immediate
factor in determining the sensuous emotion,
must decisively participate in bringing this
development to its highest intensity. And
this was brought about quite naturally by a
continuous characteristic interweaving of the
leading-motives, extending, not merely over
[89]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
one scene (as earlier in the separate operatic
vocal numbers), but over the entire drama, and
throughout in most intimate relation to the
poetic intention [characterization]."
In order to analyze the construction of a
Wagner Act more in detail, and at the same
time to explain the nature of the Exposition
and the Intensification, we shall^-foUowing
our study of a Wagner Scene in "Tann-
hauser" — do best to take up the first act of
"Lohengrin," which may be considered as the
first really mature product of the music-
dramatist Wagner, and one which, compared
with his later works, possesses the advantages
of simplicity and lucidity. Just from this
work, where — in contrast to "Tannhauser" —
Exposition and Action proceed in unity along
the same line, we can learn many practical
details for the plan of construction which
Wagner, in the remarks above quoted, could
only suggest theoretically. Referring to
"Lohengrin," Wagner declared that his prin-
cipal aim was "extreme clearness of presenta-
tion," and this clarity is displayed more
especially in the wonderfully simple dramatic
framework of the opera.
The characters of the Lohengrin drama
can readily be classified as parties of the
"intrigue" or the "counter-intrigue." Strictly
speaking, the action of the drama is carried
[90]
Laws of Construction
on by only two persons, Elsa and Ortrud.
From Ortrud issues the fearful charge of fratri-
cide; she is also the promotor of the catastrophe
in the second and third acts; and finally suc-
ceeds in so deluding the guileless Elsa that
the latter all but makes common cause with
Ortrud. Telramund is merely Ortrud's tool;
and even Lohengrin, although nominally the
hero of the drama, is in reality — from a dra-
matico-technical viewpoint — only the loftiest
expression of Elsa's purity, because of which
she is held worthy of the Grail's protection
as personified in Lohengrin. Thus Lohengrin
is, in a manner of speaking, only the personifi-
cation of aid against an unjust accusation. Of
course, the drama as played on the stage shows
Lohengrin and Elsa in visible contention with
Telramund and Ortrud; hence, the defeat of
Telramund in Act I also comprehends Elsa's
victory and Ortrud's failure. The pointer
of the balance is King Heinrich, enthroned
above the parties as court of last resort. The
"Heerrufer" (Herald) is nothing but a sub-
ordinate assistant of the King's, a sort of
living official "State Gazette," and the youth-
ful Count Gottfried, on whose fate turn both
the opening and the close of the drama, is
reduced to a lay-figure. With the exception
of the young Count, Wagner already intrch-
duces all his personages in the first act; — :but
[91]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
observe how differently they are brought on.
At the very opening there are on the stage,
besides the chorus, the King, the Herald,
Telramund and Ortrud. Now, it is a most
important point that Wagner, while bringing
on all his leading characters in the first act,
leaves one of them, Ortrud, the chief person
in the "counter-intrigue," comparatively in-
active, reducing her part to but little more
than dumb-show. Only in the final ensemble
does Ortrud have a few, not specially im-
portant, words, and even these are quite lost
in the closing jubilation. For the rest, the
onlooker is left to suppose that she is the
motive power behind Telramund's accusation;
but this does not become a certainty until
the second act. It was a masterstroke of
Wagner's to defer the exposition of this
character, Ortrud, to the beginning of the
second act, and under the shroud of darkness;
and this exposition, in its musical tonality
(the gloomy F-sharp minor, the relative of
the Lohengrin key of A major), stands in
equally sharp contrast to the first act. The
characterization of Ortrud being thus saved
up for Act II, the style and method in which
Wagner introduces the remaining personages
of the drama in the course of Act I becomes
all the more instructive. This act embraces
only three scenes, and of these scenes each
[92]
Laws of Construction
has Its "hero" — ^Telramund, Elsa, Lohengrin.
The dramatic intensification in these scenes
may be summed up in the phrases Accusation,
Sore Need of the Helpless Defendant, Advent
of the Deliverer, Victory of the Righteous
Cause. The first scene is the Scene of Sus-
pense, the second a Scene of Intensification,
the third the Denouement. This first act Is,
in a way, a drama within the drama, rounded
off and finished — all but Lohengrin's "Ne'er
shalt thou ask me!" that arouses forebodings
of possible further conflict. But this merely
by the way. I designated Scene i as that of
Telramund, although King Heinrlch opens
it with a broad exposition. However, as
I have already pointed out, this expose of
the King's possesses only general introductory
significance. True, Wagner utilizes this speech
for a characterization of the King, but a
stronger dramatic Interest sets in only with
the words of Telramund, whom the King has
just praised as a "pearl of virtue," and whose
accusation must, therefore, go far to carry
conviction to the minds of the men-at-arms
and — nota bene! — of the audience, as well.
A very skillful little trick of exposition
lies in the point that, while Telramund
alone actually carries the action, there is
in his speech an allusion to Ortrud, whom
he introduces to the King in a significant
[93]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
manner. Telramund follows up the charge
of fratricide by the not less weighty accusation
of a secret love-intrigue with an unknown
knight. In eager suspense we await the
woman so grievously aspersed, and the solemn
ceremonial which marks the proceedings of
the King, the men-at-arms, and the Herald,
yet further heightens the tension of the be-
holders. For the fact that Wagner imposes
silence here upon Ortrud there is still another
reason; the color of this first scene is wholly
masculine, it bristles with weapons, it is a
tribunal of men. Now follows the entrance
of the womanly element, and Elsa's appearance
in simple garb, clad in the color of innocence,
immediately impresses the onlookers in her
favor — particularly against the musical back-
ground — so that Telramund's terrible accusa-
tions count for nothing from that moment.
We feel that this maiden cannot be guilty of
the crimes imputed to her; Telramund may
indeed be a man of honor, but there must be
something wrong with the case. Such is the
idea that everyone in the audience, from
highest to lowest, gets intuitively, not by
reasoning; and this is just the effect the dra-
matist wants. He would have us take sides,
but only sympathetically, not combatively;
and from the moment of her entrance we
sympathize with Elsa. Our sympathy is in-
[94]
Xaws of Construction
creased by her ihodiest demeanor, her waiving
defense, and her first sorrowful words: "My
poor brother!" So complete an impression
of touching helplessness! But Elsa is not so
helpless, after all, as her enemies fancy; in
impassioned prayer she has had a vision —
to her aid came a glorious knight clad all in
shining armor, and he it is whom she chooses
for her defender. Now, too, the King and
the men-at-arms doubt no longer — Elsa is
guiltless. "Friedrich, thou honorable man,
bethink thee well whom thou accusest!" —
so the King exhorts Telramund, whose good
faith he cannot yet bring himself to question.
But Telramund accepts Elsa's avOwal simply
as a proof of her guilt; he is a rough warrior,
little used to argument; the sword alone de-
fends his honor; hence his knightly challenge
to whomsoever will enter the lists with him
for Elsa. But no man of Brabant will venture.
Even the King's power has reached its limit
— God alone can decide the issue. Telramund
solemnly vows to sustain his charge at the
hazard of his life. Elsa also confides her fate
to the hand of God — the unknown, glorious
knight shall be her defender. In reward she
offers him her heart, her hand, and her crown.
Anxious suspense — will the knight appear. f^
First call to combat — ^^he appears not. Tel-
ramund already triumphs. Second signal —
[95]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
long, anxious silence. "In lowering silence
God hath judged!" say all the men. No
doubt remains — Elsa is doomed. And now
mark well how, from this profoundest depth,
there develops a tremendous, unheard-of re-
vulsion of feeling. To this Elsa's final prayer
leads up musically (out of gloomy A-flat minor
into radiant A major) and dramatically ("As
I beheld him, let him come!"). Scarcely are
these words sung, when the first ecstatic
exclamation of the tenors resounds: "Look!
look! how strange a marvel!" Imposing is
the dramatic tableau at Lohengrin's advent,
where the animated individualizing of the
chorus, free from all conventionality, is striking.
It is a superb feature that the whole jubilant
movement emanates from the crowd, whereas
the principals, though remaining in the fore-
ground, express through their individual poses
their attitude toward the knight's approach.
The King, as beseems his knighthood, over-
looks the scene from his point of vantage;
Telramund and Ortrud are, at first, petrified
by dread and astonishment; Elsa, who with
mounting ecstasy has listened to the cries of
the men without venturing at the outset to
turn round, at the last moment exclaims
aloud on catching sight of Lohengrin. Tel-
ramund gazes on Lohengrin in speechless
amazement, while Ortrud, who hitherto has
[96]
Laws of Construction
maintained her cold, haughty bearing, is
convulsed by mortal fear on view of the swan.
We have reached the climax of the act; the
deliverer has come, and his resplendent figure
gives promise of victory for the right. The
knights hail him as one sent by God. We now
follow with lively interest the hero's every act;
first, his farewell to the swan, behind which, as
Ortrud's panic betrays, there lies a mystery
(the swan is the youthful count, spellbound by
Ortrud); then Lohengrin's prophetic greeting
of the King, and lastly the unerring certainty
with which h^ addresses Elsa, never seen till
then. But Lohengrin may not support the
princess unconditionally — and on this point
hinges the entire drama; twice, with all solem-
nity, he forbids her to question him (the
"Frageverbot"), and Elsa passes judgment
on herself by the admission: "What doubt
could ever guiltier be than doubt that slew
my trust in thee.?" We must recognize that
the "Frageverbot" is no mere passing "effect,"
but an essential link in the action. Lohengrin,
now no longer the semi-divinity, but only the
enraptured man, thereupon raises Elsa with
the avowal of his love. Confronting Tel-
ramund, he roundly asserts Elsa's innocence,^
and even the count's supporters warn him not
to engage in combat with the heaven-sent
champion. But Telramund, as a man of his
197]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
word, will "rather die than live a coward,"
and violently asseverates that Lohengrin is a
sorcerer. Thus the ordeal by combat is the
sole remaining resort, and its ceremonial prep-
aration is accompanied by prayers. Once
more intensest suspense, as the fight sways
for a time undecided, till at last Lohengrin
strikes down the count with a sweeping blow.
All expect Lohengrin to despatch his adversary,
but he grants him his forfeit life that he may
atone his guilt through repentance. This,
like the "Frageverbot," is another incident
bearing the germ of further conflict. The
following outbreak of jubilation, in which all
but Telramund and Ortrud join, forms a
brilliant close to the admirably constructed
act.
The "intrigue" has conquered; the "bearers
of the counter-intrigue" are apparently stricken
powerless to earth; — but (and this is genuine
drama) it only appears so, for they are not.
If they were so in fact, the drama would be
at an end both as regards outward show and
inward essence. The continuation of the
visible action depends on the question. What
will Friedrich and Ortrud do now.? The
course of the spiritual action is influenced by
the conflicts into which Elsa is drawn by
Lohengrin's prohibition. The question as to
the whereabouts of the young count, which
[98]
Laws of Construction
furnished the motive for the first conflict,
now seems to be finally dismissed, and is not
settled until the very end of the drama, when
hardly anybody still bears it in mind. So the
leading question of the drama is no longer.
Where is the young count? — however im-
portant this may be in itself — but. Will Elsa
keep her promise? Further analysis of this
dramatic developnient may be carried out
by the ambitious student along similar lines.
For the interest of the apprentice in the
business of the master is, after all, the final
preparation for masterpieces of his own.
[99]
CHAPTER IV
A Practical Example
Eugene Scribe's Libretto-Technic
Illustrated by the Book of the Comedy-Opera
<'Le Part du Diable"
Eugene Scribe (born in Paris, Dec. 24, 1791,
died there Feb. 20, 1861) was indubitably
one of the cleverest and technically most skill-
ful dramaturgists who ever lived, and, more
particularly, remains unrivalled as an author
of comedies (his chef d^ceuvre in this branch is
"Le Verre d'eau"). The art of tying most
intricate knots and loosing them with equal
ingenuity — that art in which Beaumarchais,
with respect to comedy, was probably the
first to excel, though not in so high a degree —
was developed by Scribe into a never-failing,
brilliant technic. Even if he later applied
himself to wholesale production in company
with numerous collaborators, his best works
will nevertheless long remain in full vigor on
the stage, because, however little of real life
they may reflect, their construction is perfect
from the point of stage-effect, so that they
never fail when adequately interpreted. Scribe
also marks an epoch in the history of the
[1001
A Practical Example
opera-libretto, andntjs significant that nearly
all the great Parisian Jbp^eratic successes in the
first half of the ninetfe^tli. century were won
with books by Scribe. \Pilost famous of all
was his connection with M^^erbeer, who wor-
ried him by alterations in his- t^ooks from the
composer's standpoint, and thereforjsr had only
himself to thank that most of the 'librettos he
had from Scribe were so absurdly constructed.
Only the book of "The Huguenots" is a; p^^r-
tial exception to this rule. What Scribe coxfl^ -
achieve in the domain of serious opera, Ke
showed in his remarkable books for Auber's
"La Muette de Portici" and Halevy's "La
Juive," two masterpieces greatly admired by
Wagner. Still more characteristic of Scribe's
originality are his comedy-opera librettos, es-
pecially those written for Auber, whose temper
was most congenial to the spirit of Scribe's
comedies. "Le Domino noir," "Fra Diavolo"
and "Le Part du Diable" are the best librettos
of this kind, and combine humor very effec-
tively with romance, like "La Dame blanche"
written for Boieldieu. In particular, the book
for "Le Part du Diable," produced soon after
"Le Verre d'eau," during Scribe's best period,
displays an inventive power and technic fully
on a level with that comedy — indeed, vividly
reminds one of it by various traits and artistic
devices. For detailed description of IScribe's
[101]
The Art of Writing Q^era-Librettos
manner of working I shjafl'xvail myself of the
disclosures made by ErneSt Legouve, one of
the best and mosC-suijcessful among Scribe's
collaborators, in* ah'* almost unknown little
^^Conference" (lecture), which he afterwards
had printed ;*(Paris, 1874). This booklet of
barely fifty pages contains a real compen-
dium of^-practical experiences, and is therefore
desej^irfg* of careful examination. Legouve
spea'iTf-of the five essential points in Scribe's
•dratifatic work, enumerating them as follows:
• • • •
1. Invention of the Subject-matter.
2. The Plot.
3. The Characters.
4. The Style.
5.^ The Stage-directions.
Legouve writes delightfully about Scribe's
inexhaustible talent for invention, which
turned everything it touched into stage-plays;
he was, after a fashion, a "dramatic Don
Juan," making love to every lovely idea until
he had enjoyed it, and then casting it aside
for a new one. He wrote four hundred plays,
but improvised at least four thousand, sketch-
ing them and forgetting them. Everything
nourished his inventive powers — an incident
while out walking, a conversation, reading,
a visit. His scenic fancy was ever at work.
Hardly had he discovered a subject, than he
[102]
A Practical Example
began the elaboration of the plot. No other
than Racine had already remarked, "When
my plot is settled, my piece is written"; and
Lessing opined, "Not mere imagination, but
practical imagination, gives proof of the cre-
ative mind."
.At the very inception of the work. Scribe
would sketch out the entire scenario. Legouve
narrates that Scribe, when the situations of the
drama "Adrienne Lecouvreur," which they
had been discussing together, were scarcely
settled, precisely fixed the successive entrances,
and, with unerring certainty, grouped the
personages of the first act in the very manner
in which they finally remained; The subse-
quent elaboration merely emphasized the
rapidity with which Scribe had planned the
treatment of the subject. This was due to
the fact that he instantly visualized the com-
plete course of the action. He himself stated
that in spirit he always sat in the auditorium
while planning a play. And Scribe was a
master not only of the art of arrangement,
but of the no less difficult art of preparation.
The public (as Legouve keenly and aptly
observes) is a very bizarre, exacting and in-
consistent creature. In the theatre it would be
prepared for anything and at the same time
be surprised by everything. When a bolt
falls from the blue, it is disquieted; when an
[103]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
event is too distinctly forecast, it is bored.
So we must both take it into our confidence
and — fool it; that is, at some point in the drama
we must negligently introduce a brief and
wholly unexpected bit of information that
the auditor hears without paying attention
to it — a passing hint which, at the moment of
the grand climacteric effect, so charms him
that he inwardly exclaims: "Well, I was
forewarned against that — what an ass I v/as,
not to keep it in mind!" That is what the
public likes best of all. In this art Scribe
was a master, and in "Le Part du Diable" we
shall see just how he practised it.
Cleverness and skill, however, do not suffice
for the planning of a good plot; imagination is
also required, for within the plot are em-
braced the invention of the various turning-
points, or crises, the disposition of the de-
nouements, the intensification of suspense or
tension, the presentation of an idea in its
most effective form. No one (so reaffirms
Legouve) ever possessed in a higher degree
than Scribe the talent for grasping a subject
in its most attractive aspect. It happened
that a friend once brought him a ponderous
five-act tragedy, which Scribe, while the friend
was reading it to him, transformed into a
charming one-act comedy. Scribe had in-
stantly sensed the humorous side of the sub-
[104]
A Practical Example
ject, and moulded it without more ado into
the new, compressed form. Ah, were it only
possible always to turn tiresome five-act
tragedies into amusing one-act playlets!
Finally (observes Legouve), the main point
of a good plot is the denouement. The art
of denouement in comedy is, in a certain sense,
a modern art. True, Lope de Vega had al-
ready advanced it theoretically, though he
had not applied it so skillfully in practice:
"The subject must have only one plot. The
story must not be interrupted by episodes or
by other matters that stand in no connection
with the principal action. One should not
be able to subtract a single member from it^
without thereby deranging the continuity of
the whole. Begin weaving your plot from the
start and continue to the close; the denoue-
ment should not arrive until the last scene."
In this matter the public has grown far more
critical, and the authors have gained much
experience, since (say) the time of Moliere,
who was still rather careless in this regard.
Nowadays (proceeds Legouve) one of the fore-
most dramatic rules is the requirement, that
the denouement should be the logical and
necessary resultant of the characters or the
events. For this reason the last scene of a
piece is often written first; as long as the close
is not invented, the play is unfinished, and as
1 105 ]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
scx)n as the author knows what the end is to
be, he must never lose sight of it and must
make everything dependent on it. It was
Scribe who best comprehended the importance
of the denouement, and who most implicitly
followed its strictest laws. This, above all,
distinguishes him from his predecessors.
Scribe's superiority lies in the invention
of the subjects and their skillful disposition.
He was less prominent (as Legouve himself
admits) as a stylist and an exponent of char-
acter. Like Beaumarchais, he apparently con-
centrated on the course of the action, being
frequently indifferent to the wording. His
characters are lacking in depth, and his
personages are not drawn so true to life as
Shakespeare's — they are mostly stage-humans.
As a stylist and depicter of character Scribe
must also rank below Moliere, who often is
his inferior in technic. Moliere and Shake-
speare wrote for all eternity, Scribe for the
success of the hour. His style, often con-
densed and inelegant, he called the "style
economique." For him the main thing was,
that the short phrase "told" on the stage:
theoretical objections were, 'in fact, nothing
to him. And on that account he was an
admirable librettist.
While Scribe was neglectful of style and
characters, he laid principal stress on the last
1106]
A Practical Example
point — the stage-management. Legouve says
that a manuscript of Scribe's embodies nothing
but the spoken portion of the work; the rest is
played, gestures supplement the words, the
pauses are a part of the dialogue, and the
punctuation gives the final touch to the
phrasing. In Legouve's opinion, there is a
sharp distinction between Scribe's punctuation
and Moliere's; in particular, it was Scribe
who fathered the insertion of those "little
dots" (. . .) denoting the hesitant pause after
a half-finished sentence, and in this system of
little dots there lies an entire dramatic method,
so that Scribe was right in declaring the stage-
management to be a second creation forming, as
it were, a new play superimposed on the given
play. One ought (says Legouve) to have
seen Scribe at rehearsal, where, like a general
on the battlefield, he took full command,
now improvising happily, now adding some-
thing new or cancelling something else. — In
France, a piece done in collaboration is really
finished only in the rehearsals, and usually
not printed until after the performance. No
wonder that th^ French dramatists are tech-
nically superior tp those of all other national-
ities. In the case of 'musical works, too, one
might proceed similarly; we know how Berlioz
used to try all manner of experiments during
rehearsals, till the right thing was found; and
(107]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
anyone who has assisted at Gustav Mahler's
private rehearsals knows how this sensitive
conductor was continually contriving new
effects in his own works. The old saying
that practice makes perfect is nowhere more
applicable than in theatrical matters.
The stoiy of "Le Part du Diable"^ is a bit
of original invention, though founded on an
historical incident. Carlo Broschi (called Fari-
nelli), the hero of the opera (born in Naples,
June 24, 1705, died in Bologna, July 15,
1782), was possibly the greatest singer of the
eighteenth century — a castrato, about whose
marvellous singing wondrous tales are told.
It is likewise an historical fact that Broschi
cured King Philip V of Spain of his deep
melancholy by singing to him, at the instance
of Queen Elizabeth, a princess of Ferrara. It
may be added that the king's melancholy was
induced by the death of a son — here Scribe
deviates. He lays the scene of the action
(probably on account of the plot) in the time
of this king's predecessor, Ferdinand VI, and of
his queen, Maria Theresia of Portugal. How
Scribe originally approached this subject can
best be learned from his novel, "Carlo Broschi"
(CEuvres completes, Vol. IV, p. 55; Paris,
1859), in which that famous singer is also the
central figure, although the story of the opera
1 'The Dcvfl's Portion."
[108]
A Practical Example
and that of the novel coincide only in a very
short passage near the end.
In his novel, Scribe lets the king's barber
tell the following anecdote: "At the beginning
of his reign the king was tormented by an ill-
ness that nothing could cure. Seiior Xuniga,
the court physician, had lavished all his art
upon it, only to discover that this disease had
a strong affinity to one which (as he said) was
invented by the English, and which he called
'the spleen.' The king had already twice
attempted his own life without assignable
reason, and, despite the queen's distraction
and the admonitions of Father Anastasius,
his father-confessor, it was to be feared that
our exalted sovereign would finally succeed in
a design which would entail his perdition in
this world and the next. For a month he had
shut himself up in his apartment, refusing to
see anyone excepting the queen, and in spite
of her entreaties and expostulations he obstin-
ately rejected all proffered services, even such
as were most beneficial for his health and
comfort; thus he stubbornly refused to change
his underclothing or to allow himself to be
shaved! ... We were all in despair, the
queen likewise. She devotedly loved her
spouse, yet, seeing his reason and his very life
threatened by the gloom of brooding mel-
ancholy, she knew no remedy that might save
[109]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
him therefrom, until she suddenly thought of
Farinelli, whose voice, so it was said, worked
miracles. She begged him to come to Madrid;
he was conveyed into a room next the king's.
At the first tones of that heavenly voice, the
king trembled! ^That is an angel-voice!'
he cried. And he listened intently; then,
profoundly affected, he fell on his knees and
wept, something that had never happened
during his illness. *Once more!' he ex-
claimed, *once more! I must hear those
tones again that have refreshed me and re-
called me to life!' .Farinelli sang again, and
the king, now completely restored, threw
himself into the queen's arms; thereupon
bursting into the adjoining room, he em-
braced Farinelli with the exclamation: *My
angel! my deliverer! whoever thou art, ask of
me what thou wilt, I'll give it thee — only
demand, I will grant it!' And Farinelli
responded: *I beg that Your Majesty will
change your underclothing and let yourself
be shaved!' '^
This little ane.cdote, a commixture of the
story of Saul and David and the episode be-
tween Alexander the Great and Diogenes,
was the embryo out of which grew Auber's
exciting libretto. Now let us investigate how
the ingenious Scribe went about his task. In
the first place there was, ready to hand, a
[110]
A Practical Example
tremendously effective situation to be wrought
up into a musical and dramatic climax; — the
melancholy king is restored to life by the
divinely beautiful strains of a youthful singer,
and would reward the singer in princely
fashion. Beside the king, his loving queen,
whose sole desire is the deliverance of her
spouse. Thus we already have three principals
in the action — King, Queen, Singer. A fourth
person, the king's father-confessor, is also
named; of him Scribe made a representative
of gloomy Spanish fanaticism, an inquisitor
and — intriguer. By this means Scribe ob-
tained a splendid conductor of the "counter-
intrigue," and a special effect at the culmin-
ation of the action (close of the second act).
The plotting of the inquisitor is, to begin w^ith,
of a political nature, directed against the
queen as a foreigner. Later (in accordance
with the counter-intriguer's churchly office)
he continues his plotting under the mantle of
religion, and this from the moment, as we
shall see, when the inquisitor recognizes Carlo
as his chief opponent. Carlo, as the de-
liverer of the king and, at the same time, of
the queen, is the best foil for the inquisitor.
Thus we have, as affecting the king, the
conflict of two influences; on the one side
fights the inquisitor, on the other the queen
with Carlo's assistance. But the inquisitor
[111]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
must also have a helper, this being one Gil
Vargas, whose fearsomeness as the inquisitor's
accomplice is in the end fully outweighed by
the comicality of his behavior, the atmosphere
of comedy being thus preserved. Now arises
the question, By what means did the inquisitor
seek to dominate the king and to estrange
him from the queen? Answer: With Vargas's
connivance he attempted to press upon him
as mistress an innocent young girl, with whom
the king fell in love, and whom the inquisitor
forcibly conducted to the king through the
instrumentality of Vargas. But this young
girl — in love with another man, of course —
quickly escaped from the toils and fled. Now
Scribe also discovers a convincing reason for the
king's melancholy; the king believes the maiden
to be dead, hence the disorder of his mind.
Is not this clever? But better is to come!
The young maiden, who (of course) has no
idea that the king was pursuing her, and who
had seen no one save Vargas, has (as noted
above) a secret lover whose name and rank
she does not know (observe how the action
turns on these secrets, and how ingeniously
Scribe makes it all quite plausible); he had
introduced himself, in the millinery establish-
ment where the girl is engaged, simply as a
student of theology. This lover is, in reality,
a Spanish grandee, Rafael de Estuniga, sole
[112]
A Practical Example
heir to an immense fortune, which may be his
after the demise of an uncle now on his death-
bed. So we have a love-affair, into the bargain.
Now notice how astutely Scribe interweaves
all these nicely disposed threads. Rafael's
teacher is none other than the theologian
Vargas, the inquisitor's helper; this is a con-
necting-link between the "intrigue" and the
"counter-intrigue"; and the young girl, pur-
sued by the king and beloved by Rafael, is
nobody but — the sister of Carlo Broschi!
Thereby a wholly new connecting-link is in-
troduced into the plot; Carlo moves the
melancholy monarch not merely by any chance
song, but by one very special song known only
to himself and his sister. And this song it was
that the king had once heard sung by Casilda,
Carlo's sister. This accounts for the brooding
king's emotion. The song, whose music and
words are so devised as to be available in the
most momentous situations of the subsequent
action, will naturally play a leading part in
all three acts. Herewith the plot is already
quite clearly indicated, and the principal
conflicts and developments established. But
now Scribe had another happy thought, which
adds just the needful spice to the refection.
It is evident that the fate of Rafael and Casilda
lies in the hands of Carlo, and that he must
take a continuously active part in the course
[1131
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
of events. How does Scribe bring this about?
With a wholly admirable trick of prestidigita-
tion. While Carlo is really the nephew of that
enormously rich uncle, it is said uncle's in-
tention, in the very shadow of death, to dis-
inherit his nephew because, instead of studying
theology, he spends his money for fine raiment
and feminine adornments, besides running
into debt. For Rafael is a full-blooded noble-
man of a martial line, who therefore would
rather have joined the army; but his attempt
to obtain an ensigncy miscarries. So he finds
himself in a tight place, with only one way of
escape — to sell his soul to the Devil. In guise
of the Devil, however, there appears — Carlo
Broschi, who has learned by eavesdropping
that Rafael is his sister's lover. Rafael strikes
a bargain with the "Devil" on a fifty-fifty
basis. Thus the way is cleared for the full
swing of Scribe's humorous fancy. Rafael
(who finally sees his dearest wishes fulfilled
through happy accidents and Carlo's omnipo-
tence at court) has to go halves with the
"Devil" in everything; in money, in honors,
and lastly even in — his wife. But he also
bears with equanimity the less pleasing aspects
of life, such as imprisonment and mortal
danger, for the risk is not his alone, as he
shares everything with his fiendish copartner.
Scribe turns all the possible complications to
[114] .
A Practical Example
the best account, and is inexhaustible in his
invention of situations bringing Rafael (and
Carlo with him) continually into new diffi-
culties, out of which, however, they always
unexpectedly find their way when the danger
is at its height. TJius Scribe rivets our atten-
tion till the last moment; further on we shall
have an opportunity to admire the masterly
fashion in which he gradually looses the knot.
Here only the lines were to be shown, along
which the action progresses, and it was my
purpose to suggest the mental processes
through which Scribe probably developed his
complicated comedy out of a very simple
anecdote. We have, in fact, thus come at all
the characters with the sole exception of the
Count of Medrano, a mere "walking gentle-
man's" part.
Having indicated how the plot took shape
in Scribe's mind, let us proceed to construct
the entire scenario after his method, so as to
penetrate deeper into the finer details of his
work.
Act I
First of all, the setting of the scenery is a
masterpiece of Scribe's constructive talent:
"Wooded region in the environs of Madrid.
To the right, a convent; to the left, a tavern;
in the centre of the stage a great oak, whose
[115 1
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
branches hang down to the ground, concealing
a stone seat placed beneath them."
This has a matter-of-course air, but is really
the outcome of much subtle meditation: How
shall I bring my characters together in one
place without letting them inopportunely fall
foul of one another? Nothing simpler than
that, says Scribe; to begin with, here we have
the main property, the Devil's Oak (for a regu-
lar Devil lets himself be invoked only in a
proper, diabolically infected, spot); and this
tree with its concealed seat is equally well
adapted as a screen for Carlo's eavesdropping.
On the right is a convent — ostensibly, merely
to vex the Devil, as is casually suggested, but
in reality the absconded Casilda dwells in
this convent, so she is conveniently at hand,
like her brother Carlo, who lavishes his gifts
of song in payment of his sister's board and
lodging. Now only the king and queen have
to be provided for. Well, to-day the court
goes a-hunting in the forest, for the diversion
of the melancholy monarch; so they both
soon appear, accompanied by the inevitable
inquisitor, and the tavern on the left does not
merely form a very pretty decoration, but is,
like every stage tavern, eminently practical
as a place into which to dismiss any persons
for whom one has no immediate use on the
stage. It possesses the peculiar advantage
[116]
A Practical Example
that anybody, without regard to rank, can
be hustled into such a forest inn — whether
king or beggar, it's all the same. So Scribe
says to himself, Why shouldn't there be a
tavern just here, when the world is full of
taverns? — and again hits the nail on the
head. And now, assisted so far as possible
by Legouve's revelations concerning Scribe's
technic, let us examine how cleverly the
French wizard planned his play.
Scene i
Rafael, Vargas
We hear that the wealthy uncle is dis-
satisfied with Rafael and Vargas because the
former has learned nothing and the latter has
taught nothing. Rafael confesses that he
has fallen in love with a young modiste whom
he saw, opposite his house, in the shop of
Sefiora Uracca, the leading milliner of Madrid,
and that he has also run into debt on her
account. He is resolved to renounce theology
and, in order to win his sweetheart, to make
his way with the sword — if need be, in alliance
with the Devil. This very day, St. John's
day, is the right time, and at ten o'clock in
the evening (this somewhat early hour is chosen
to motivate the entrance of the king shortly
before) the Devil may be invoked beside
[1171
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
this tree — at least, so it is written in an old
book. Vargas has his doubts, and advises him
to apply to the Grand Inquisitor, who is com-
ing hither to-night in attendance on the king.
For a hunt by torchlight has been arranged for
the king's diversion. During this dialogue
Scribe ingeniously' puts a whole series of
significant hints into Vargas's mouth, which
do not materialize until Scene 5 (in Act II).
Here we learn for the present only the bare
essentials: Vargas knows exactly why the
king is melancholy, and under the seal of
secrecy informs his pupil as follows: "There
was a young maiden, for whose death he be-
lieves himself to blame, and whose shade
persistently pursues him. The Grand Inquis-
itor, Fray Antonio, confidant and favorite of
the wretched monarch, had a hand in this
affair. . • . He is indebted to me for impor-
tant services rendered in very delicate and
dangerous matters, and has promised to reward
me for them. As soon as he shall succeed
in separating the queen from her spouse and
sending her back to Portugal, my fortune is
made. For this reason I hope that he will
not fail to exert his mighty influence in hehalf
of my pupil." — In order to formulate this
petition to the Grand Inquisitor, they both go
off into the tavern. Thus (according to
Legouve) Scribe at once takes us into his con-
[118]
A Practical Example
fidence and mystifies us; we hear about im-
portant matters without having an inkling
of their importance, for so far the king, queen,
inquisitor and young girl mean nothing to us.
We are interested, at most, in the love-affair
and career of Rafael. That his beloved mo-
diste is identical with the young maiden for
whom the king mourns, never enters our
heads.
Scene 2
Carlo alone
He has been an involuntary listener to the
dialogue hard by the tree beneath which he
had composed himself to sleep. Rafael's lot
excites his pity, for it seems to resemble his
own. Carlo likewise being without friends,
fortune, and hope. Yet he bids defiance to
fate, knowing that a beloved sister needs his
care; for her he will contend, trusting that
ill fortune may be averted.
Scene 3
Carlo, Casilda
Casilda comes out of the convent to greet
Carlo. He asks her to tell him why she left
Madrid so hurriedly and fled hitherward; he
had not been able to understand her letter
[119]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
(naturally, he says this only that the audience
may have an opportunity to be fully informed).
It is a clever trick (however improbable) to let
Carlo apparently forget the name of the house
in Madrid where he had obtained lodgings for
his sister; and it is only when Casilda mentions
the name of the milliner Uracca that he
glimpses (as do we ourselves) a connection
between the conversation he has just over-
heard and the present one. So now we know
that Rafael loves Casilda, and that Casilda is
Carlo's sister. Rafael, however, is ignorant
of Casilda's name and rank, precisely as she
herself is unaware that her lover is a young
theologian. Then we hear about another
incident (without, of course, knowing in the
least that it supplements the story of abduc-
tion previously told by Vargas); Casilda tells
her brother how, seated by the window, she
was wont to sing songs, in particular "that
lullaby of our dear departed mother's" (highly
important!). One day she was applauded by
two disguised cavaliers, who since than had
passed by every evening; and one morning
came an elderly man of most respectable
appearance (no one guesses that this was Var-
gas!), who induced her, urged thereto by her
employer, to drive with him in an equipage to
a high-born lady who, on account of an indis-
position, desired to have her measure taken
[120]
A Practical Example
in her palace. But his real purpose was the
abduction of Cdsilda to put her in the hands
of a "young cavalier of noble mien" (nobody
dreams that the king is meant!). Casilda,
however, succeeded in escaping and found her
way to this tavern, whence she wrote her
brother, who procured her reception into the
convent under condition that Carlo should
sing in the church for a year without remu-
neration. Yet her heart still yearns for the
young theologian, fearing never to see him
more. Carlo soothes her, but at the same
time hints that her lover's high rank presents
an apparently insuperable obstacle to their
union. She must hope for better days, for
their mother's spirit is watching over them.
Exit Casilda into convent.
Scene 4
Carlo alone
Carlo remains behind. Having not yet
broken his fast, he would like to enter the
tavern, but that is too dear for him. What
little money he possesses he would rather give
his sister. Finding that he still has a morsel
of bread, he designs to eat it alfresco and alone.
Alone .^ No, he is not alone; his mother's
spirit hovers ever above him. (Observe how
Scribe accounts for Carlo's remaining, and
[121]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
also how he motivates Carlo's singing of that
particular lullaby during the following scene.)
Scene 5
King, Queen, Carlo {concealed on the stone seat)
After this exposition of the situation in
which Rafael and Casilda find themselves.
Scribe brings on the king and queen, to inter-
twine their fortunes with Carlo's. The vision-
haunted king enters, leaning on the queen's
arm, and again sees the apparition (regarding
which he leaves the queen in ignorance, though
we know what it is from Vargas's story). Now
he hears the voice of Carlo, who, his thoughts
fixed on his mother, sings a phrase from the
lullaby. The King is startled, for he fancies
that the young maiden whom he thinks dead
is repeating the song. He asks who it is that
sings, and bids the youthful singer approach,
the latter not dreaming who it is that requests
him to sing the entire song. Carlo explains
that the song is his mother's lullaby, and sings
the two strophes of which it is composed.
Now observe with care how Scribe constructed
this song. The first strophe is nothing more
nor less than a real lullaby:
Ferme ta paupiere, Close thine eyelids,
Dors, mon pauvre enfant, Sleep, my poor child,
Ne vois pas ta mere Look not on thy mother,
Qui prie en pleurant. Who prays all in tears.
[122]
A Practical Example
Dame noble et fiere,
Belle Senora,
Calmez ma misere
Et Dieu VOU8 le rendra.
||:Donnez, donnez sur cette
terre,
Dieu dans le ciel vous don-
nera. : 1 1
Lady noble and proud,
Lovely Senora,
Relieve my misery,
And God will reward you.
Give, give here on earth,
God in heaven will give re-
ward.
The most important part of this song is the
refrain: "Give here on earth, God in heaven
will give reward," a petition which now, as
sung for the first time, is directed at the Ma-
donna, but — and this is the dramatically
significant point — in the further course of the
action is directed at the king himself.
In the second act Carlo, when his life is
threatened, sings before the king's cabinet
the same melody to the words:
roi de la terre,
noble Seigneur,
Entends la priere
De ton serviteur;
Si trop temeraire
Ma voix s*elevera,
En toi seul j'espere.
Car ta clemence est la.
:A qui pardonne sur la
terre,
Dieu dans le ciel pardon-
nera.:||
O king of the earth,
O noble lord.
Hear the prayer
Of thy servant;
If all too boldly
My voice be raised,
In thee alone I hope.
For clemency is thine.
To him who pardons here on
earth,
God in heaven shall pardon
give.
It is evident that the words of this song
are a mere adaptation of the second strophe
[ 123 ]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
of the song heard in Act I, here accommodated
to the dramatic situation.
In Act II the king is not only reminded
by the melody of his own grievous transgres-
sion against Casilda, but is at the same time
adjured by the words to give aid, so that his
helpful intervention is well motivated. This
song is the impelling force at the most im-
portant turning-point in the drama, for which
reason its. translation requires very special
care, so that the meaning of the drama itself
may not be perverted.
The king thanks Carlo, and asks him to
name a boon; Carlo answers (as in the anecdote
given above) that he would beg the sovereign
to have beard and hair put in seemly order,
to don raiment more befitting and more in
keeping with the beautiful lady beside him —
a very shrewd stroke, which raises him still
higher in the queen's favor.
Scene 6
The same; Iiiquisitor and Courtiers
The king salutes the gentlemen and avers
that he has not felt so well in a long time.
"That is a bad sign, an ill omen for us," re-
marks the inquisitor aside. The king, how-
ever, desires to rest yet a while in the tavern,
so he invites his train to enter with him. The
[ 124 ]
A Practical Example
queen alone begs to be excused for a moment
(in order to speak with Carlo, of course).
Scene 7-
The Queen, Carlo
The queen questions Carlo as to his name
and family relations, whereby we, too, learn
something further about them. She proposes
to take Carlo to Madrid, but he declines the
offer because of his sister, whom "a high-born
gentleman of Madrid had attempted to abduct
and seduce." The queen says that Carlo
ought to demand justice of the king, but
Carlo replies that the king is crazy, though
the queen'.s heart is in the right place. There-
upon she discovers herself to him. Carlo
implores her pardon, and now the queen
straightway undertakes to care for his sister,
and orders him to follow her as soon as he has
informed the Abbess of her plan. In all this
Carlo again recognizes his mother's protecting
love. Exit into convent; the queen remains.
Scene 8
The Queen, Rafael, Vargas
Just here we have another little conjurer's
trick of Scribe's, which the audience, however,
never notices; — in the first scene Vargas had
[ 125 ]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
advised Rafael to write a petition to the
Grand Inquisitor, who (it is taken for granted)
is the power behind the throne. Now, how
does Rafael come to request a recommendation
to the queen from the inquisitor, her enemy,
and why, at the beginning of this scene, does
Vargas send Rafael to the queen? Scribe's
only reason could have been to bring directly
before our eyes the refusal of the appointment
to the ensigncy by the personage next in power
to the king, and thus to make his subsequent
fabulous rise the more remarkable. Rafael
approaches the queen, and petitions as a noble-
man for an ensigncy in the Netherlands. The
queen is on the point of granting it, when
Rafael produces the recommendation of the
inquisitor. The queen instantly closes the
audience coldly and ironically: "One whom
my enemies recommend, no longer needs my
protection." She follows the king into the
tavern, whither Vargas had preceded her.
Scene lo
Rafael; Huntsmen passing over
While the huntsmen sing their jovial ditty,
Rafael is a prey to despair. Even the power-
ful inquisitor had availed him nothing — earth
and heaven have conspired together against
him.
[126]
A Practical Example
Scene ii
Rafael alone
Rafael's resolve is fixed — hell must grant
him what heaven refuses. Ten o'clock strikes.
Time and place are favorable, and he begins
his incantation. But Asmodeus, however
courteously or rudely besought, fails to appear;
even the Devil, it seems, will have nothing
to do with him.
Scene 12
Rafael, Carlo
Carlo comes unnoticed out of the convent
and hears Rafael's incantation; but not until
Rafael vows to the Devil that he will kill
himself, does Carlo venture to impersonate
Satan — truly, a strange imitation of Satan,
who secretly begs the good Lord's forgiveness
for the deception. Indeed, when he comes as
a genuine Devil to demand Rafael's soul, he
trembles more than Rafael does at his sin.
But Rafael notices nothing, although he
hesitates to give his soul in pawn. Instead,
he oiFers the Devil to go halves with him,
which the latter declares to be bad business,
but finally accepts. "The half of everything,
whatever it be!" is the agreement. First of
all Rafael wants the ensigncy. The Devil
[127]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
objects, that this cannot be divided; still, he
will get it for him, provided he demeans him-
self decorously and discreetly. It strikes
Rafael as decidedly odd that the Devil should
preach morality to him, but now the royal
chase is nearing, and they must break off the
conversation. Carlo wraps himself in his
clock and disappears among the royal .train.
The torches of the huntsmen, awaiting the
king here, light up the hitherto dark stage.
Curtain.
Evidently, this act is merely an exposition;
all the more eager is our expectation of the
following events. "Le Part du Diable" is
less an "opera" than a comedy with music,
as the earlier opera comique (comedy-opera)
was so frequently a comedie melee d^ariettes
(comedy interspersed with ariettas), the music
being interpolated, as it were, in the dialogue.
Thus, in this particular act, arias and romances
. (songs) have the upper hand; Rafael and Carlo
have their arias, Casilda and Carlo their
romances; besides these there are only two
duets (between Casilda and Carlo, Carlo and
Rafael) and the short Hunting-chorus; lengthy
ensembles are wanting.
Act II
Hall in the Royal Palace at Madrid
Three months later
[128]
A Practical Example
Scene i
King, Queen, Carlo {in rich page-costume) ^
Chorus
The king sleeps; the fever that once tor-
mented him is wholly allayed since Carlo's
voice revived him. However, happy as this
has made the queen, a new sorrow oppresses
her, which she confides to Carlo; — her secret
enemy, the Grand Inquisitor, is seeking to
reestablish his influence over the king; to-day
he will preach a great sermon, and the king
has promised to attend. Ten o'clock strikes,
the king awakes, and would go to hear the
sermon, the inquisitor having reminded him
of it; but Carlo, in league with the queen,
sings to the mandolin a joyous Neapolitan
song, whose wit is rightly communicable only
in the original French. The song is about
a melancholy countess to whom is sent a
Neapolitan physician. "Ah, je vous supplie,
prenez ce medecin napolitain d'un savoir
certain" (Ah, I implore you, receive this Nea-
politan physician, whose skill is assured.")
The "melancholy countess" is naturally an
allusion to the king himself, and the "Nea-
politan physician" none other than Carlo.
In vain does the inquisitor urge the king to
attend the sermon; Carlo continually interrupts
with a continuation of the joyous ditty, which
[129]
The Art of JVriting Opera-Librettos
charms the king. Meantime the sermon comes
to an end, but this troubles the king not at
all; that can be repeated, he observes, but
now Carlo shall go on with his song. The
song so strengthens his heart that he proposes
to-day to preside over the State Council
again for the first time, to the joy of the queen,
to the rage of the inquisitor. Exeunt omnes,
except the queen and Carlo.
Scene 2
Carlo, the Queen
The queen expresses her gratitude to Carlo
for the miracle he has wrought with the king.
The latter, however, is not fully restored;
sometimes (the queen says) some secret op-
presses him, and he Is seized by frenzied
convulsions. No songs help him then, only
the one that Carlo once sang in the forest
never fails of effect (we know why this is so,
but the queen and Carlo have no idea). But
Carlo, too, is often sad, and the queen guesses
the reason — he cannot bear to be separated
from his beloved sister. So the queen will
send for the sister immediately, but she must
bear a title at court. Therefore, the queen
creates her "Signora Theresa di Belraonte,"
and makes Carlo Court Conductor. The
Master of Ceremonies, Count Medrano, is to
[1301
A Practiced Example
fetch Casilda and escort her hither by the
secret stairway; Carlo is to await her here, and
then bring her to the queen. Again take note
how Scribe prepares matters. Carlo has one
objection — one person at court knows Casilda,
and this person is Rafael. Now we also learn
of Rafael's further fortunes; through Carlo's
intercession he has after all obtained, to his
vast astonishment, his ensigncy from the
queen herself; has fought bravely, and for
that reason has been entrusted by his general
with a message to the. queen, which he is to
deliver this same morning. The queen already
has in mind a distinction to be conferred on
him (what it is, she does not divulge), and
Carlo confides to her- that Rafael loves his sister
deeply and truly, and that he (Carlo) loves
Rafael like a brother. But, in Carlo's opinion,
the lovers can probably never be united. Now
consider how everything is prepared. We
know that Rafael ^s coming to the queen and
will receive a distinction; we also know that
Casilda is to be introduced as maid-of-honor
to the queen; and we have been told how the
king still suffers at times from the delirious
fancy that the young maiden has lost her life.
Thus we are prepared for all the following
events — and nevertheless, the sensational
manner in which Scribe introduces them
positively astounds us, as we have pretty
[131]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
much lost sight of "the Devil's portion,"
although Carlo calls our attention to it with a
casual remark, "He probably thinks his
commission came. from hell."
Scene 3
The same; Rafael
Enter Rafael in ensign's uniform. The
queen pretends to be provoked that the gen-
eral sent a mere ensign; the blunder must be
remedied: "Arise, Captain Rafael!" Rafael is
astonished, but in a moment he catches sight
of Carlo; "Asmodeus" is "on the job," so
nothing further surprises him, not even the
purse of gold pieces given him by the queen for
his equipment.
Scene 4
Rafael, Carlo
Rafael's first thought is to. employ the
money in travelling throughout Spain in search
of his beloved modiste. But Carlo upsets the
plan; the Devil's portion must be paid — to
Rafael the honor, to Asmodeus the cash.
Rafael finds it a rather hard bargain, but a
nobleman must keep his word, especially in
view of the fact that the Devil has already
promoted him to a captaincy. Exit Carlo.
[132]
A Practical Example
Scene 5
Rafael, Vargas
In the Doorkeeper of the palace Rafael
recognizes his old teacher Vargas (another
clever trick of Scribe's); this modest post was
the only one that the inquisitor could procure
for his protege, and Vargas is lost in wonder
that Rafael should enjoy such high protection,
for Vargas, being a spy for the inquisitor, must
keep his eye on everything. Now, as Vargas
tells his woes to Rafael, we learn still more
about past events. Vargas narrates: "First
I took service with your uncle; then I gave
myself body and soul to the Grand Inquisitor.
He, who had vainly sought a means to estrange
the king from the queen, suddenly discovered
that the king had fallen in love with a young
maiden whom he had seen at a window opening
on his park, and heard singing (take note —
singing!). He ordered me to abduct her and
carry her off to Aranjuez. I carried out this
delicate and honorable mission most success-
fully; but a quarter of an hour after her
arrival in the castle, the young maiden had
fled, and was nowhere to be ' found. Now,
what was to be done.*^ The king was told that
she was dead, and it was this story that
caused his incurable melancholy." — Now, all
at once, we begin to see clear; the tale told by
[133]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
Casilda in Act I, which, so far as we could
then see, had no connection with the dark
hints thrown out by Vargas, suddenly takes
on an entirely new meaning; — Casilda is the
young maiden for whom the king mourns.
Here it dawns upon us, what a triple role
Casilda has to play . as Rafael's sweetheart,
Carlo's sister, and the king's phantom. It is
just this interweaving of three activities in-
terpreted by one and the same personage that
Scribe carries through with technical master-
ship. From this important conversation of
Vargas with Rafael we learn still more; the
inquisitor's influence is ebbing, and in case
his covert intrigues should be brought to light,
he intends throwing all the blame on Vargas,
whose mind is consequently ill at ease (note this
excellent motivation of Vargas's desertion to
the opposing party in Act III). The once
almighty inquisitor has been ousted by an
unknown young man who has ingress to the
king at any time, unannounced. Rafael does
not find this strange; he lets Vargas know that
this young man is Asmodeus, the Prince of
Darkness. Vargas hesitates to believe this,
but Rafael shows him his captain's commis-
sion, just obtained by Asmodeus' interven-
tion. Vargas now appears to be convinced,
but counsels Rafael to beware of the In-
quisition.
[1341
A Practical Example
Scene 6
The same; Officers of the Guard
Enter Officers, to play at dice. Vargas is
invited by Rafael to play with the latter's
money, but loses a large sum — of course, for he
does not stand under Asmodeus' protection.
Then Rafael plays himself, and — immediately
wins.
Scene 7
The same; Carlo
Rafael is about to pocket his winnings,
when Carlo claps him on the shoulder and de-
mands the Devil's portion. Vargas has
followed all this with dubious mien, and
makes up his mind to get at the bottom of the
matter (preparation for what is to follow).
Scene 8
The same; without Officers
Carlo looks upon the money he takes from
Rafael as a sort of trust account which he is
carrying for Rafael; whereas Vargas naturally
believes Carlo to be an adventurer seeking
wealth at Rafael's expense. Rafael, however,
explains to Vargas that nothing is impossible
to his protector. Whereupon Vargas asks
[1351
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
Rafael to let his conjurer display his magic art
then and there, and Carlo thinks to himself,
Now the Devil's in for it! when Rafael demands
nothing less of Asmodeus than to let him again
behold that unknown beauty, whom he loves.
Hardly have the words left his mouth, and —
the secret door flies open and Casilda, with the
Master of Ceremonies, stands before Rafael.
Scene 9
The same; Casilda, Count Medrano
Scribe could not have timed Casilda's en-
trance more delectably. Consider, that for
Rafael and Vargas her sudden appearance has
the effect of magic; for Carlo, too, her entrance
is quite unexpected; but the audience has really
been taken into Scribe's confidence (we have
been told that Casilda is to be conducted to the
queen) — and fooled. And for Vargas, as well,
the situation is very peculiar; he is quite as
surprised as Rafael (as the latter remarks),
"and not without reason," as Vargas dryly
observes, for Casilda is that same young girl
whom he had spirited away. Rafael wishes
to embrace Casilda, but the Master of Cere-
monies interposes; and — as the Devil has no
use for half of a Master of Ceremonies — Carlo
refuses to expel him at Rafael's request. So
Rafael, by reiterated refusal to obey the
[136]
A Practical Example
Count's orders, has one day after another
added to his guard-house sentence, with comi-
cal effect, until the Count, acting by virtue
of his disciplinary powers as governor of the
palace, gives him eight days (though Rafael
fancies that the Devil's portion reduces the
sentence by half). Exit Rafael on his way to
the guard-house, while Vargas resolves to win
over this mysterious coadjutor for the Inqui-
sition: "I do not know, indeed, whether he is
a sorcerer or not, but at all events it can do
no harm to exorcize him." Medrano entrusts
the sister to Carlo's care, and exit to queen.
Scene lo
Carlo, Casilda
A scene brief in time, but highly significant.
Carlo tells Casilda that by the queen's com-
mand they are not to conduct themselves here
as brother and sister. Casilda has not only
joyfully recognized Rafael, but has instantly
detected in Vargas the man "of perfidious
mien and Jesuitical gaze" who was her ab-
ductor. Carlo (who naturally hasn't the
faintest notion that the king has a hand in
the game) advises her to throw herself at the
feet of the entering monarch and to implore
justice against her betrayer.
[1371
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
Scene ii
The same; the King
Most dramatic situation; in Casilda the
king recognizes the lost maiden, Casilda in
him the cavalier into whose hands she had
been betrayed. This she hastily communicates
to her brother; the king on his part does not
conceal from Carlo that Casilda is the appari-
tion which robs him of all repose. Only with
difficulty is Carlo able to convince the king
that the young maiden is alive, and no
phantom.
The king strictly enjoins Carlo to observe
secrecy concerning his wrongdoing, for which'
Heaven now punishes him with remorse.
Scene 12
The same; the Queen
The queen's entrance renders the situation
still more unpleasant for the king. Carlo tells
her in a hurried whisper that he has now dis-
covered the cause of the king's enigmatic
sufferings, and the queen desires to know it;
but Carlo repents the hastily uttered words.
The queen signifies that she awaits Carlo with
his explanation; but the king, about to attend
a State Council, also wishes speech with Carlo
afterwards. The queen takes Casilda with
1138]
A Practical Example
her, the king goes off to the Council, Carlo
remains behind by himself.
Scene 13
Carlo alone
A desperate situation, to be the confidant
of both the king and queen, and at the same
time brother of her whom the king loves!
Neither is Rafael, as the king's rival, in an
enviable position. It's lucky, remarks Carlo,
that he is locked up for eight days, otherwise
his rashness might spoil everything.
Scene 14
Carlo, Rafael
And at this very moment — enter Rafael
(genuine comedy, this, he being the last person
one would expect to see). So you can play
the sorcerer! cries Carlo, dumfounded. As no
arrangement had been made as to which of
them should first serve his four days, Asmodeus
or himself, Rafael had boldly risked a leap
out of the window — the more boldlv because
m
"the Devil's portion" would let him off with
only half the leap. He, of course, is seeking
Casilda. Carlo intimates that he is acquainted
with the earlier phases of his love-affair (which
Rafael finds quite natural for the Devil), and
[139 1
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
advises him — self-evidently on the king's ac-
count — to avoid his sweetheart, else ill fortune
will dog his footsteps. Rafael makes light
of this, so Carlo must have recourse to a last
desperate expedient — that Casilda is of his
own race, a child of the devil, and he must
avoid her would he not devote his soul to
eternal perdition.
Scene 15
The same; the Queen, Casilda
The queen returns with Casilda — of whom
Rafael learns she is called Donna Theresa —
it being her (the queen's) intention to proceed
that same morning to Aranjuez. (Scribe thus
skillfully removes the queen, so that she may
not be able to aid the imperilled Carlo at the
act-close.) Carlo has to accompany the queen
to her carriage despite his reluctance (he does
not wish to leave Rafael and Casilda alone
together). Thus the scene is cleared for the
lovers. Rafael learns from the queen's own
mouth that Casilda is a new maid-of-honor,
which strikes him as not strictly in keeping
with her calling as a she-devil.
Scene 16
Rafael, Casilda
Rafael, comically wavering 'twixt love and
his dread of hell, lets himself be led so far
[ 140 ]
A Practical Example
astray, in spite of Carious warning, as to sink
down at Casilda^s feet.
Scene 17
The same; the King, the Inquisitor
The king is enraged at finding the young
officer at the feet of his inamorita, and at once
has him arrested. (Very comical, that Rafael
conceives this mishap merely as the result of
his disobedience to Asmodeus.) But worse is
in store; the inquisitor informs the king that
it was Rafael who had been denounced as in
league with the Devil, and the king directs
the inquisitor to let the stringent law take its
course. No one, under pain of death, is to
enter his apartment. Exit king.
Scene 18
Rafael, the Inquisitor, Vargas, Halbardiers
Here Vargas's attitude is not quite clear;
he has denounced Carlo for sorcery and must
have been aware that Rafael was equally
guilty. His excuse, that he thought Rafael
was locked up (and therefore secure — why.^),
so that it was only Rafael's own foolishness in
escaping from arrest that is to blame for bring-
ing him to the stake, is not convincing. Here
we have another of Scribe's clever tricks,
wherewith the audience is duped. There is
[141]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
true comedy in the contrast between the dire-
ful prospect of being burned alive, and Rafael's
demeanor, which remains easy and cheerful,
for he feels that Asmodeus will again rescue
him.
Scene 19
The same; Carlo
But now Carlo, too, is brought in under
arrest. The danger is menacing — the queen
in Aranjuez, the king, under guard of his
halbardiers, inaccessible to all under pain of
death. Carlo thus wholly in the power of his
worst enemy, the inquisitor. Only one hope
remains — to move the king by means of the
well-known song. His last request, a prayer,
cannot be refused by the inquisitor, and so
Carlo sings the song, directed rather at the
king than to God, as close as he can get to the
king's cabinet. Hardly is the song at an end,
when Carlo is seized to be carried oif to his
death; now the door of the cabinet opens, and
the king steps out.
Scene 20
The same; the King
The situation takes a sudden turn, but only
for Carlo, who is immediately set free by the
king, for the order given the inquisitor does
[142]
A Practical Example
not apply to him. However, Carlo must also
save Rafael. In an aside to the king he asks
what crime Rafael has committed. The worst
of all, answers the king; here, in the palace,
he insulted the king by throwing himself at
the feet of that young maiden. But Carlo
is not slow in finding a pretext: Rafael, he
replies to the king, had a right to do so, being
— her husband. The king is thunderstruck;
although the union is hateful to him, it is a
legal one, and beyond his power to annul.
Carlo gives the king the whispered advice,
to send Rafael instantly out of the palace,
that the king may regain his composure.
But for the latter the thought is intolerable,
that he might never see Casilda again, for
Rafael would assuredly take his wife along.
Now comes a genuine stroke a la Scribe — the
king not only sets Rafael at liberty, but
actually makes his excuses to him, and finally,
to attach him to his own person, appoints
him commander of his bodyguard!. All of
which is most astonishing to Vargas, while
Rafael accepts even this new distinction as a
matter of course. The inquisitor is routed,
Carlo once more in favor, and Rafael trium-
phantly walks oflF with his old friend Vargas
through the guardsmen and inquisitors.
In this brilliantly constructed act the
cumulative eiFect of all the happy accidents,
[143]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
for which Rafael was apparently indebted to
the art of "Asmodeus," is admirably felicitous.
The act reaches its musical climax in the
grand finale (from Scene i8 onward), which is
"through-composed/' and one of the most
valuable numbers of the score. For the rest,
this act does not oflFer the musician very many
opportunities, but these are very favorable.
The first scene, with Carlo's merry Neapolitan
ditty, is delightful; less important, though
very pretty, is the gaming scene; least prom-
inent is the Quartet in Scene ii, whereas the
duet between Rafael and Casilda (Scene i6)
is really charming. But the contrast in the
finale between the gruesome and the comical
presents one of the most favorable opportuni-
ties which the poet can offer the musician.
Act III
Here again Scribe is inexhaustible in his
invention of novel shifts. The scene is laid
in the castle at Aranjuez, in a hall having a
view over the royal gardens.
Scene i
Carlo alone
Carlo is awaiting the queen, whom he had
entreated to meet him here. He feels anxious
[ 144 ]
A Practical Example
for Casilda and himself as regards their future,
for, even if the king is continually deceived by
his courtiers, he (Carlo) cannot bear to think
that he imposed upon his sovereign, even in
his utmost need. He hopes the queen can
advise him what further steps to take.
Scene 2
Carlo, the Queen
The queen fancies that she knows Carlo's
secret, and this occasions her to tell another
secret — rcertain persons are 'trying to persuade
the king to put her away; there are rumors of
a divorce and a new marriage with the daughter
of the king of Sardinia. It is even said that
the inquisitor, Fray Antonio, is a hireling of
the Sardinian court, with which he carries
on a clandestine correspondence through the
medium of one of his agents, Gil Vargas.
Of this plot Carlo offers to furnish the queen
with the proofs she urgently requires. Notice
here that the intelligence of the inquisitor's
connection with the Sardinian court is news
for us, but as we had already heard of the
inquisitor's machinations against the queen,
and of Vargas's collusion, these latest dis-
closures do not come as a complete surprise.
Carlo entreats that, first of all, Rafael and
Casilda may be married; this will not be
[145]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
difficult, for a word from the queen would
induce Rafael's wealthy old uncle to change
his mind. Now a new obstacle arises — the
old uncle (so the queen has heard) has just
died without disinheriting Rafael, but Rafael
has thereby fallen heir to so vast a fortune that
he can scarcely be expected further to consider
a marriage with Casilda. In any event (Carlo
implores), let the queen tell the king, in case
he should bring up the subject of their marriage,
that she herself had been present at their
wedding. Their conversation must be ab-
ruptly broken off, before the queen has time
to find out the reason for this new request of
Carlo's (very clever!).
Scene 3
Carlo, Rafael, Vargas
Carlo devoutly hopes that Rafael may not
hear of his uncle's death until the wedding is
an accomplished fact. But, behold! in comes
the rascally Vargas, bringing Rafael the news,
and adding that with the inherited 600,000
ducats he might aspire to the hand of a prin-
cess. Carlo, however, reminds him that "the
Devil's portion" amounts to 300,000 ducats,
reducing his inheritance by half! This fairly
infuriates Vargas against the "crafty im-
[1461
A Practical Example
poster/' whom he resolves to put to the test
at once. Rafael, as officer of the Guard, is
called away by a drum-signal to form the
lane for the reception of the queen. Vargas,
to whom this reception is "of no consequence"
(this seems hardly plausible in a Doorkeeper),
takes advantage of the king's entrance (now
going on in the rear) to sneak up behind Carlo,
who is seated at a table, writing, and present
a pistol at his head with the query, whether
the mighty magician knows what is going
to happen to him the very next moment.
Carlo replies coolly that he cannot foretell
his own fate, but can prophesy Vargas's as the
abductor of a young maiden whom he intended
to betray into the king's hands — he will be
hanged this same evening by order of the
queen, who is about to sign his cjeath-warrant;
still, he can save himself by giving up the letters
from the Sardinian court to the inquisitor.
Vargas does not hesitate long to hand over
the letter which he happens to have by him,
reasoning that (as he has seen in Rafael's
case) "Asmodeus" is prompter than the in-
quisitor in coming to the aid of his proteges.
Rafael, on his return, is astounded to find
his teacher already in the power of the Prince
of Darkness — who is, to be sure, rather ex-
pensive, but very punctual. Rafael makes
one last request of "Asmodeus" — he wishes
[147 J
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
to take to wife that "she-devil,'* Casilda,
immediately and without further ado.
Scene 4
The same; Count Medrano
Here Scribe introduces another typical
eiFect. Although we are aware that Carlo
(in the preceding act) designated Rafael to the
king as Casilda's spouse, and although we
know that only a few minutes ago he entreated
the queen to tell the king that she had been
present at their wedding, we are no less sur-
prised than Rafael by the bomb-like irruption
of a letter in the royal handwriting. The
king writes: "You are married, this we know.
It is, therefore, our will, that this very evening
you should occupy the apartments set aside
for you in our palace, with Donna Theresa,
your spouse." So Rafael, as the king says so,
has been married "without having noticed it."
Scene 5
The same; the King
Now the king enters on his progress and
congratulates Rafael, approving the marriage.
Rafael can find words only to inquire from
whom the king had received the information.
—From Carlo and the queen, who had herself
been present at the wedding.
[148]
4 Practical Example
Scene 6
Rafael, Carlo, Vargas
Rafael is naturally more and more aston-
ished; but it is really all the same to him when,
where and how he was married — the main point
is, he has been married, whereof there can be
no doubt, as the queen herself was present.
But now matters are at a critical pass for
Carlo's sister, as Rafael would forthwith
hasten to his bride. Again Carlo has a happy
thought — only half of Casilda belongs to
Rafael, for, according to their agreement, the
Devil reserved half of everything. But this is
a little too much for Rafael — the Devil is wel-
come to the whole of Vargas, to square
accounts, but as for sharing his wife with
"Asmodeus" — never!
Scene 7
The same; Casilda
At this moment Casilda enters (ingenious
motivation of her coming, and of Carlo's de-
parture: at the close of Scene 2 the queen
told Carlo that in a while, after the reception
of an ambassador, she would send Casilda to
call Carlo). She says to Carlo that the queen
awaits him. In an aside — in order that the
audience may not get wind of the new trick —
[149]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
Carlo arranges with her that, so long as she is
together with Rafael, she should (to protect
herself) conduct herself as if in presence of the
Devil. To this Casilda reluctantly assents.
Exeunt Carlo and Vargas on their way to the
queen.
Scene 8
Rafael, Casilda
One of the most charming scenes in the
opera; whenever Rafael would be tender,
Casilda "registers" the Devil's participation
in her, asserting that the Devil is showing her
the same fond attention from the other side —
whereat Rafael finally becomes enraged.
Scene 9
The same; the King
Enter king; Rafael, deluded by the phan-
tom devil, falls at his feet before Casilda
can interpose, and craves the boon of a real
marriage-ceremony.
Scene 10
The same; the Queen, Inquisitor, Vargas
The king's ire is turned against the queen,
who had assured him of her presence at the
wedding.
[150]
A Practical Example
Scene ii
The same; Carlo
All eyes are fixed upon Carlo. Height of
the tension, just before the close — what will
be the issue? The queen gazes imploringly
at Carlo, in whom the king sees the arch-con-
triver of the intrigue, and whom he orders to
keep to his singing and not to meddle in other
matters. Now follows a surprising turn —
Carlo (so he himself asserts) can sing no longer,
for secret distress with regard to his sister
(observe, that even now the king does not
know that Casilda is Carlo's sister), whom a
powerful personage plans to abduct and seduce,
torments him. He can divulge the name of
this personage only in strictest privacy. The
king promises to inflict fearful punishment on
the wretch, and then hears — that he himself
is the transgressor. And in connection here-
with Carlo likewise reveals the inquisitor's
intrigue against the queen, to prove which
he has the letter from Sardinia. But Carlo,
at the same time, can solemnly assure the king
that he alone knows the king's secret, the queen
not sharing in it. That this secret may be
forever buried, he oflFers his own life as a
sacrifice, if only Casilda be made happy with
Rafael. Thereupon, Carlo and Casilda to-
gether intone their mother's song of entreaty,
[ISl]
The Art of Writing Operd-Librettos
and the. deeply affected king solemnly vows
to remain true to the queen, to restrain the
machinations of the inquisitor, and to unite
Rafael and Casilda (an admirable disen-
tangling of the knot in a few words!). Rafael
is made a Count, and remarks that this time
he need not be anxious about the Devil's
portion; but in this, too. Carlo takes his part:
Casilda, as Rafael now learns at last (!), is not
really a she-devil, but — the sister of Carlo. So
the latter, after all, gets the best of the bargain;
he feels that Rafael and Casilda are happy,
and it is to him that they owe their happiness.
He who cannot learn the difficult art of
the successful denouement from the masterly
construction of these scenes, can hardly hope
to master it. Follow up the manner in which
Scribe lifts the veil, bit by bit, and yet re-
serves a telling stroke for the very end.
The musical harvest shows an ampler
yield only from the beginning of the exquisitely
constructed finale (Scene 9). Before that
Carlo's solo scene, and the duet between Rafael
and Casilda, were the only "composable"
passages; still, these situations outweigh in
value a larger number. For all the various
little sleight-of-hand tricks, which attract no
special notice in the theatre, "Le Part du
Diable" is one of the very best and cleverest
librettos extant.
[1S2 1
A Practical Example
Admittedly, the character-drawing is its
least successful feature, the distribution of
light and shadow being too unequal; the queen
and Carlo fairly ooze magnanimity, whereas
the inquisitor is a regular stage-villain and
intriguer. On the other side, Rafael and
Casilda are a typical pair of lovers, drawn in
the stereotyped style. As more interesting
characters there remain only the vacillating
king and Vargas, wavering between* the parties,
of whom the latter, by reason of his blending
of fatuity, slyness, and malevolence, certainly
oflFers the most grateful role from a histrionic
standpoint. As already pointed out. Scribe
was not eminent in characterization. What
made him the most significant dramatic talent
of the period around 1850, and possibly raises
him above the dramaturgists of all times, was
his knowledge of the stage, the secret of
effective situations, his scenic instinct, his
craftsmanship. As a living contradiction
Scribe shows us how, without being properly
a poet, one may nevertheless possess an im-
mense dramatic talent. He realized the
method by which, in the blaze of the foot-
lights, routine and clever manoeuvering win
more numerous and sincere admirers than
heartfelt and thoughtful simplicity. Scribe
was for this reason, keeping in view his strong
and weak points, such an admirable librettist
1 153 ]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
— one whom we certainly need not imitate,
but from whom we may learn infinitely much,
more particularly economy of resources.
In an opera-book elegance of language and
flow of ideas are not merely superfluous, or at
least not indispensable, but usually even an
obstacle for the composer. Emotions and
passions must be expressed in the book only
in summary fashion, as it were; the situations
themselves have the effect of their full dra-
matic impetus. The concise scenic phrase,
la parola scenica, that Verdi always demanded
in place of flowery, complicated poetry from
his librettists, the word made equally manifest
to the eye by a gesture, found its master in
Eugene Scribe.
1154]
CONCLUSION
We have reached the end. Only sug-
gestions could be offered, nothing more. This
book is not meant to be a compendium of
esthetic scholastic wisdom, but a practical
manual of the handicraft. While until now
I have felt obliged to sound a warning against
the ww^^restimation of technic, I must here
no less urgently advise against its overestimsi-
tion. Mere technic is not enough; if your
work carries no message beyond that to the
heart, if it lacks electrifying fancies, it may
possibly win momentary plaudits, but can
never possess enduring value. The goal
worthy of the dramatist's striving should be
the permanent inclusion of his work in the
theatrical repertory. Only such works show
true vital strength as maintain their places
year in, year out, undiscarded.
Again, no stageplay can be completed at
the writing-table; only direct contact with
the living stage makes many things clear to the
author. It is desirable, to begin with, that
the librettist should be on such terms with
the stage-management, that he may be en-
abled to establish the essential requirements
of his work with the assistance of the regular
operatic stage-director. Unfortunately, the
[155]
The Art of Writing Opera-Librettos
importance of the art of stage-management
(which is not identical with opulence of stage-
setting) for the operatic stage is still insuffi-
ciently understood. Any new work may be
irretrievably ruined by a bad performance;
it is only the old, time-tested works that can-
not be "ridden to death,'' because the audience
still holds in imagination a memory of better
performances, and either recognizes the poor
interpretation for what it is, or unconsciously
imposes its earlier and more favorable im-
pressions on the present performance. So
one should never praise a work before the
evening of its premiere. All prophetic words
may then be scattered to scorn.^ But, what-
ever the outcome, so long as the author has
done his part, he knows that he did not hide
his talent in the earth, that his work expresses
the best that is in him, both technically and
emotionally. He should not, therefore, be
disheartened by temporary ill success, for
all earnest endeavor is sooner or later almost
certain to reap its reward. The success of
"fads'* and "sensations" generally dies down
as swiftly as it blazed up. But a work that
gains ground slowly and gradually — how long
a time did Wagner's "Tristan" require! — is
assured of a permanent place. In the case
of many a masterpiece — we mention only
Rossini's "Barber" and Bizet's "Carmen" —
[156]
Conclusion
it was the public, not the author that fell,
short. But after-times have usually — though
often enough, alas, too late — atoned for the
sins of contemporaries. And a genuine artist
will not allow himself to be daunted by any
obstacles whatsoever.
[157]
ALLA BREVE:
From Bach to Debussy
By CARL ENGEL
(WS the title suggests, these are thumb-
^^ nail sketches of the great masters of
music from Bach to Debussy. We know
of no book exactly like this one. The
author, whose brilliant essays in The
Musical Quarterly have delighted so
many readers, has done his work exceed-
ingly well, as was to be expected. The
book is historical, esthetic, critical, but
at the same time educational — a danger-
ous combination by an author of less
knowledge and taste. But Mr. Engel
has succeeded beyond this — he has pro-
duced a book which it is a joy to read
as literature.
Price, $2.00, net
G. SCHIRMER, INC.
3 E. 43rd St. New York
iiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiniuiiinnniiiiiiniiniHiiiiiiiuiinim^^^^
A645
To avoid fine, this book should be returned on
or before the date laat ataniped below
I m^va^^
OCT 3?
m\
NOV 191346
MUSIC LIBE
KNOa
KUStCll
JUN ;>
KUSiC LIBljflRr
FEB 21
MUSIC
|95b
W RARV
MAY
SEP 10
197 >
.imiri
MRlVsSKusgm
IIAV
•iOV S ■: 19M
1051
J ISS4
'm^
nus\
)as9
Apit
OUT
^» 1959
DEC 4 1951
wjsic iiSRisny
^AY 1 - bu
4 2^965
ubrW
4 ia67
271968
7 WS
E 3 1974
piiiliMiiii
3 6105 042 731 427
Live Music
Archive
Librivox
Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland
Museum of Art
Internet
Arcade
Console Living Room
Open Library
American
Libraries
TV News
Understanding
9/11